


Laying Down the Sand

by Knitzkampf



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode V: Empire Strikes Back, Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: AU Return of the Jedi, Angst, Awesome Leia Organa, Ewok-free, F/M, Jabba still gets Han Solo, Luke still fights the Empire, Mentions of Slavery, Post-Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, mention of sexual trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-09-26 21:00:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 65
Words: 273,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9921947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knitzkampf/pseuds/Knitzkampf
Summary: An AU set at the time of ESB. Han Solo abandons Luke, Leia and Chewie to settle some unfinished business and sparks a series of events that challenges each one's destiny and the fate of the galaxy. An epic tale of friendship, love, family and lightsabers.





	1. Chapter 1

Luke Skywalker wandered past Princess Leia's seat in the lounge and into the galley of the Millennium Falcon. Moments later he reappeared, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Have you seen Han?"

Leia didn't bother to look up from her data board, a mild frown forming on her face. It would seem Captain Solo would distract her whether or not he was present. She shook her head at Luke. "Haven't seen him," she answered curtly. "He should be in the cockpit." Beneath her feet the powerful engines of the freighter had started to hum and vibrate; lift off would come momentarily, she surmised.

"He's not," Luke told her. "I've looked everywhere."

Her frown deepened. "His quarters? 'Fresher?"

Luke looked a little chagrined. "I didn't check the 'fresher."

She tossed him a sympathetic glance, then noticed he was sincerely agitated. "He could still be outside, checking for tracking devices," she suggested, trying to mollify the young man.

"Yeah, OK," Luke said. "You're probably right. Can I help you with those?"

"Sure," Leia answered enthusiastically. This, the wind-down, was the toughest part. She generally appreciated the opportunity for a mission. It brought her back to her roots, a princess out with her people. Instead of the abstract strategy and endless discussions of a war room, Leia actually saw the Rebel Alliance in action; felt it out in the streets and towns of the places she got to visit. She witnessed first hand the struggles and violence of a place under Imperial control, and her energies exponentially increased every time she returned to base.

Dangerously, she realized she was starting to crave the excitement of a mission. It started on the Death Star, when she ran up a corridor chasing Luke into a barrage of blaster fire. Imprisonment had wiped her out, emotionally as well as physically, and she was both surprised and pleased to feel pink return to her cheeks. She was certain Han and Luke saw the same glimmer of adrenalin in her eyes as she saw in theirs.

Life on base was another rationale for taking on a mission. Granted, it was a selfish one, but Leia relished the chance to wear different clothing, to eat non-dehydrated rations, and now especially, to get away from the lethal cold of Hoth.

Hoth was perhaps the worst of choices as it was also the best of choices. Located outside an asteroid belt and so far from any sun as to make life almost uninhabitable, the Empire had yet to patrol that section of space. But the isolation and desolation of the environment was taking its toll on those living on the base. Blankets, warm water, and high morale were all luxuries in short supply.

Leia spread out her data boards to assign Luke a task. She was doing the accounting for the latest acquisition, currently being brought on board by C-3P0, and had only managed to reconcile one of the boards since they had returned to the ship.

"You can inventory the medical supplies. Take a reckoning, in cubic volume, of the bacta solution. There should also be, in that same crate, antibiotics and pain control. Count all those. That would be great. Thanks, Luke."

"No problem." Luke took the board and made off to the cargo bay, not too enthusiastically. One thing he had never imagined since joining the Rebel Alliance three years ago was the amount of filing and paperwork to be done. They still had a debriefing to look forward to when they got back.

The mission had gone smoothly, for once. Almost too smoothly. Luke had a nagging suspicion something was awry. Not seeing or hearing the loud Corellian pilot bustling about inexplicably bothered him. But Chewbacca, the Wookiee copilot, didn't seem to find anything amiss, so Luke told himself to just go with the flow. Counting helped push his worries aside, but once in a while when Leia fetched another data board or C-3P0 tottered by with the loading cart he would lapse into inactivity, worlds away, thinking.

Leia had been almost giddy with the success of the mission. The Falcon was in good repair and had made good time, the contact was met without delay, and the transaction handed off without alarm. The group had been careful not to exult out in the open, but their steps were light and they all had felt so optimistic as they headed back to the ship. Han had promised to open a special reserve brandy to celebrate.

Luke finished the third crate and returned the data board to Leia. C-3PO approached them. "Excuse me, Mistress Leia, Master Luke. I have finished stowing the freight in the cargo bays. I apologize if this took too long. Perhaps next time Captain Solo will think to bring a labor droid. My design, as you well know, is for protocol and I am not efficient at such tasks, menial though they may be." The droid paused. "I should like to commend Captain Solo for not harping on my slowness this time."

"Has he been working with you?" Leia asked. It came to her attention that no one yet had answered Luke's question of Han's whereabouts. She looked at her stack of data boards and estimated she had filled out almost three quarters of them. Obviously a good portion of time had passed and she'd been totally unaware, immersed in details.

"No, Mistress. He is probably in the cockpit with First Mate Chewbacca." Luke and Leia exchanged glances. "Shall I inquire of our lift off time?"

"Yes, please, 3P0," Leia told him.

"See, it's odd," Luke turned to her and she nodded.

There came a loud hoot of indignation from the cockpit, and both Luke and Leia left their seats to see what had caused the disruption.

"-no need to yell at me, Chewbacca," C-3P0 was retorting, his arms, permanently set at 90 degrees, raised in protest. "I merely asked a question."

Luke and Leia followed the conversation, picking out words and phrases without 3PO's help.

"...ship…. trackers..."

"No."

"...ask….lift off?"

"No."

"What vines has he been weaving in the light?" Chewie demanded.

"He means what has Captain Solo been doing all this time," C-3P0 added helpfully.

"No one's seen him since we got back, Chewie," Leia stated.

"Did he even come back?" Luke asked.

"Yes." Leia knit her brows, trying to remember. "He was walking in front of me – he put the hatch down, remember?"

"If I may, Mistress Leia. When the delivery arrived Captain Solo told me he was going to arrange for customs and lift off."

"Check with the port office, Chewie," Leia ordered.

The quartet waited in tense silence as they awaited the verdict. Luke groaned when he heard the response in Basic over the comm, "there has been no request made by the Millennium Falcon for either customs clearance or lift off."

"Shit," Luke swore. "Where is he? Where can he be?"

"If he is off drinking or gambling," Leia threatened with tight lips, "I will absolutely kill him. And fire him. I'm never contracting with him again. It's bad enough we run into bounty hunters; we can't have his irresponsibility affect the missions."

"He's gotta be somewhere," Luke tried to appease her, though really he was talking to make himself feel better. "Chewie, try his comm."

Leia flung her hands in the air. "You know how he is with the comm! When you really need him is when you can't get in touch with him."

Chewie sat in tense silence as the other end of the comm call remained silent. He disconnected it and stood up, his intentions clear.

"Where are you going to look, Chewie?" Luke asked. "I'll come with you." He went to grab his jacket. "We'll need you too, 3P0."

"Oh dear. I do dislike the types of establishments Captain Solo is fond of visiting," the droid fussed.

"Shall I head in another direction?" Leia offered.

Chewie shook his great shaggy head. "Chewbacca feels someone should remain aboard the ship, Mistress Leia," the protocol droid translated.

Leia nodded, feeling chilled and detached from her body, and drifted out of the cockpit. She heard the ramp open and close, watched Luke, C-3P0, and Chewie head through the docking bay out the porthole window.

Outside everything was normal, routine. Inside, she felt everything but normal. The ship was quiet, the engines stilled. She found she couldn't concentrate anymore on the boards until the question of Han's location was answered. Where was he? Why had he left without indicating anything? She wracked her memory of the mission, could not find a single interaction which stood out as trouble for the smuggler. She vascillated between anxious worry and impassioned anger. The jerk! How could he! How dare he do this to them, leave them in a lurch, just when things were going so well? Finally, things had gone well, and if he were there with them now than things would be perfect. She needed to hear from him, to know he was alright. And when he dismissed their worries with complete indifference she would slap him silly.

She grabbed her comm and called Luke. "Anything?"

"No," came his tinny and disappointed voice. "But we only checked one place so far."

"Keep me posted," she ordered. Leia wandered through the ship to her quarters and grabbed a blanket Han had let her use from the bed. She wrapped herself in it, hoping it would soothe her by association. Then she found herself in the cockpit again.

She imagined he was in a bar, a stupid grin on his face. She began to pace angrily. She pictured him at a Sabacc table, self-satisfied and raking winnings into his arms. She crossed her arms bitterly. When she thought of him in a brothel and kicked his chair she realized she was being silly, so sat down in it. She put the tip of her pinky finger in her mouth and tore the nail off.

What if he were hurt somewhere? In her mind's eye she could see his crumpled form in an alleyway, on a morgue table. Stop it, she warned herself. What if it had been a bounty hunter? He might be shackled, aboard a ship, on his way to imprisonment or death. What if the Empire had learned of their mission and taken their pilot? Leia bit at another fingernail. Now she was being ridiculous. There had been no indication of the Empires' presence here. She hated this turmoil!

The mission had gone so well, she reflected. Her ebullience earlier was now so bittersweet. Maybe this, their missing pilot, was the mission taking its usual sour turn. A sour turn, true, but it was not usual to have a missing pilot. She was surprised at her reaction, how it was throwing her for a loop.

Just the last mission, they had almost lost Han and then Luke. Leia did not like visiting this memory. It was filled with tension, violence, danger. The ship was becoming too known, the bounty too enticing. Han spent the entire journey back in a fury. Leia wasn't able to figure out just what he was so angry about; it seemed to be everything. Luke's injury, Chewie's resentment, the cursed bounty hunter, the bounty.

Maybe himself, she reflected in hindsight. It was no one's fault but his own there was a bounty on him.

Just walk up the damn hatchway, already, she urged in her head. Just come back. I promise I won't kill you. I'll just be so relieved. Where the hells have you gone off to, Han Solo?

XXXXXXXXXXX

Deep in the port city, Luke and Chewie had hit another dead end. It was a difficult enterprise, Chewie recognized. It was not the sort of tracking he normally did, but for the strange nonappearance of his partner, it seemed a good way to start. He let Luke do most of the talking after the first proprietors quaked in obvious fear of him, despite C-3P0s's prissy recriminations. The golden droid was useless, as usual. With Luke doing the talking they needn't have brought the annoying mechanical along. The droid was pessimistic and gloomy, outlining his opinions on establishments and the fate of Captain Solo.

They had hit a visited a good number of the cantinas in the seedier district. Luke really didn't expect to find Han here. He wanted to, wanted to finish this endless chapter of nerves fraying, but he didn't think it was like Han to just go without a word. Oh true, he enjoyed drink, women and gambling, but he'd never been sneaky about it before. He would just tell them. And then Leia would get mad and they would have a fight.

Chewie had learned of a Sabacc match and so they had tromped across town to the hotel where it was held. Chewie scanned the names and holos of each participant while Luke scanned the crowd, willing the smuggler to appear. Again, they drew a blank. No one had seen anyone matching Solo's description. Or if they had, Luke thought darkly, they weren't saying.

"Chewie, it's like he dropped off the face of the planet. And Leia's called me maybe forty times. Let's go back to the ship and figure out what to do."

Reluctantly, the Wookiee acquiesced. But he let Luke know he was very uncomfortable with the situation. He took a final sweep of the streets with his eyes, his nose twitching in puzzlement. No blasters, no unsavory characters…. He had to agree with Luke. It was like Han had dropped off the planet.


	2. Chapter 2

Luke placed his fingers to his forehead, trying to stave off the headache he was developing from listening to C-3P0 all morning.

One night had passed, spent on board the Falcon in the docking bay. Luke, Leia and Chewbacca had gathered in the lounge.

At first they merely waited, daring to hope, bashing Han with affection and underlying worry. Chewie declared when Han got back he would dislocate Han's arms from his shoulders. Luke stated he would fill the coolant lines with Han's favorite ale. Leia said she would fill those empty bottles with 'fresher water.

There was no celebratory brandy and the happy mood of a day ago was replaced by a sinister dread.

Conversation drifted to what could have happened. When C-3P0 posed the possibility that Captain Solo had defected to the Empire, causing Chewie to rise from his seat in ire and Leia to object loudly, Luke put an end to it. There was no point, he insisted, until they had some evidence. So the group morosely headed to their separate quarters, determining to sleep on it and come up with a plan in the morning.

No one, it seemed, had the knack for quieting the droid like Han.

Now it was morning and the damned droid was prattling on with what Luke considered slander, giving him a headache.

"Shut up, already! Luke shouted. "You're not helping anything. I'm going to ask you to shut down if you insist on spouting nonsense."

It was the first time Master Luke had lost patience with him, and the droid was stunned into silence. He shifted his torso apologetically. "I am merely -"

"No, 3P0, I'm done," Luke said. "No more."

"Yes, Master Luke. I meant no offense."

"I know, I know," Luke sighed.

Leia took a deep breath. It was odd, how the dynamics of their group had shifted without Han's loud and brash presence. It was like they were falling apart. "We need to make a decision," she told them. "Here's what we have: a hold full of cargo, a missing person, and a docking reservation that expires – when, Chewie? - tomorrow." she was pleased to note that at least she was beginning to understand some of the Shyriiwook language. "Is there more we can do?"

"There's got to be, Luke asserted. "Isn't there a bounty hunters guild, Chewie? Would we be able to access whether or not someone fulfilled a bounty? And, I hate to say this, but we need to check hospitals and the jail even."

Leia nodded, glad to be proactive. "Good idea. How about you and I do the hospitals and jail, and Chewie and C-3P0 can check on bounties. We'll meet back here, and hopefully we'll have something. If not, I think..." she let the words die on her lips, thinking she couldn't leave without him.

At the end of the day Leia's feet hurt. She and Luke had traversed the town several times. The hospital had given them a list of shelters where the more harmless of the drunks were shuttled by local authorities to sleep it off. Leia considered Han would not be a harmless drunk, not with his temper and blaster strapped to his thigh, but they checked it out anyway. She realized if they weren't as safe here they wouldn't be able to do any of this. It was odd, she and Luke were so safe, but something had befallen Han.

Chewbacca returned with the droid shortly after they did. "Thank the Maker we are back on board," 3P0 gushed. "Even foot traffic was completely stopped in the docking bays. Apparently there was some sort of crime. It seems the local populace is unused to such events."

No one made a comment.

"I will take you back to base," Chewbacca informed them with dignity. "Then I must leave and find Han." He turned for the cockpit to ready the ship for departure. For once, the protocol droid was silent.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Han Solo lifted against the seat restraints as far as they allowed as the stolen freighter ascended out of the space port. He searched out the cockpit window and spied the Millennium Falcon, still docked and waiting for him.

Bye, baby, he thought. His eyes strained to see if maybe Chewie were outside the hull, a giant fist punching, cursing Han to the stars, but there was no sign of anyone.

Solo leaned back heavily into the seat and rubbed his face. It had been easy, so easy, to steal the shuttle. It gave him a hollow satisfaction. This was what he was good at, really good: theft and crime. He could've made a fortune on this planet, started a crime syndicate. This planet, for things like drugs and extortion, was kid play. Low crime rate. Laws not even tough. Just a moral bunch of beings. He could have been like a local Hutt. In truth, he had entertained the idea; it had flared briefly, like a passing comet. A fantasy: get rich, and quick, enough to rival Jabba. Kill his ass dead.

But no. Once it had been enough to be really good at crime and theft. Now, people like Luke and Leia needed his skills and even appreciated them to a point. But this was war time. Once the war was over they wouldn't need them, or him at all. And he found he wanted them to. That was the damned thing about it, he wanted them to.

Damn Princess.

She acted like she expected more than hot wiring and pick pocketing from him. Why she was always so angry with him. Like there was something deep inside him, latent and unused.

Solo shook himself out of his reverie. He didn't want to think about her. He roamed his gaze around the cramped cockpit. The freighter was small, one he could handle himself. But built for short range; it would be a long and uncomfortable trip to Tatooine. It wasn't even equipped with a sleeping berth. If Chewie realized right away what he'd done, the Falcon would reach Tatooine before Han did, but he was counting on Chewie's good faith. Chewie's faith in him.

Sorely misplaced, pal.

Han sighed. He was going to miss the fur ball.

A clamor came from the console, air traffic demanding he return. He disconnected communications with a snort. It was a peaceful planet; they didn't have systems in place to deploy an escort or shoot him down. Another reason he chose this moment to make his getaway.

He'd known he was going to leave after the last mission. When Luke took that blaster bolt. For him. Han scowled. He'd become a liability.

Han was pretty certain he was a dead man when he returned to the Hutt. Hell, he'd been a dead man the instant he fried Greedo and flew off with Luke and Kenobi without a backward glance. It was odd, living, drinking, flying, when you knew you were on borrowed time.

He'd gotten himself and Chewie into one hell of a mess, but he was captain. They might be partners, but in the end the responsibility was Han's. That's what relationship they had settled into when Chewie swore the Life Debt to Han.

He'd shut up about the Life Debt long ago, when he couldn't get the Wookiee to disown it. But he'd never bought the concept. It just seemed another form of slavery to Han. In his mind the debt was repaid a long time ago. Now it was time for Han to settle the score.

He had kept his plans folded to his chest, like a Sabacc hand. Because sooner than later, he was going to wind up dead, and maybe Luke and Leia and the whole damn Rebellion along with him.

It was a hell of a dilemma. Staying with the Rebellion had made sense; they were in hiding too, and like a parasite Han latched on, utilizing their superior technology to stay one step ahead of the Empire and bounty hunters. Leia thought she was seeing political idealism when he agreed to smuggle for them but really, he was just in hiding. But their 'adventure', as Chewie liked to call it, on the Death Star and the Battle of Yavin had also allowed the Empire to identify his ship. More and more, quarter masters were signaling the Empire of the YT-1300's landing in various ports, opening up a whole new dimension of danger to missions.

So it was time to go. And fix it so the big Wook wouldn't share his fate. Han wasn't happy about his decision, he'd thought long and hard about how he could weasel out of his situation, but he realized it was it all that was left to him. Maybe this is what Luke and Leia were waiting for. Once they stopped calling him a coward.

He would lay the freighter in the sand, let the Jawas cannibalize the ship until there was no sign of him, and face the wrath of Jabba the Hutt.


	3. Chapter 3

Luke had finally fallen asleep. They were leaving next morning cycle; Chewie would drop them off on Hoth with the cargo and then he would jet off again and Luke would continue with the Rebellion, and it would be as if Han and Chewie and the Millennium Falcon and all that they meant had never existed.

It sickened him.

The Falcon was home, he realized on his last night aboard. He had grown up here. Ben had given him his first lessons in the Force. He had grieved in the lounge, made his first kill in the turret, laughed in the galley, thrown up in the 'fresher. Ben had become like the father he never had here and Han like the brother he never knew he wanted.

On board the Falcon he had learned to appreciate women and Wookiees. In such a short time his life experiences here had far outstripped what he had known on Tatooine.

His heart was heavy and his mind was clouded, and Obi Wan Kenobi thought it as good a time as any to show him a vision.

Force-spirit Kenobi gently touched the young man's essence. "Luke," he called softly. "Come with me."

"Ben?" Luke stirred, feeling completely awake but knowing he must be dreaming. The remembered warmth of the man was here with him; he felt a pressure on his wrist as if someone were pulling him. "Ben? Is that you? I've really missed you."

The elder man smiled sadly. "I know. I'm sorry I am unable to touch you more often." He made a wry face. "It's not so easy when one is dead."

"You're not dead, though? You're here." Luke struggled to see his mentor. His mind was not seeing colors or physical form but there was sensation; he was not alone. Someone was here with him.

"I assure you, I am quite dead," Kenobi answered with the same sad smile. He spread his hands and the black vastness of Luke's dream became a lush world; fertile, green and wet. "And, I am here."

Luke looked around. He could feel the humidity, heavy and warm; he could hear the cries of creatures hidden in the vines that covered the trees. Water was all around. He touched his boot to a puddle and there was a slapping noise; his sock felt wet. Struggling to understand how he, too, came here, he looked at his former mentor.

"What is this place?" he asked. It was rugged and primal; ancient and aloof. Not quite the place he'd imagined for an after life. "Is this the Force?"

"It is Dagobah. This is the home of the Jedi Master Yoda. When you come here you will begin your training."

"This is a planet? It's not what the Force looks like?" Luke saw the old man shake his head.

"No, Luke," Ben answered. "The Force has no appearance. It just is."

"This is Dagobah?" Luke echoed. "How will I go there?"

"You are on a ship, are you not?" Ben prompted.

"But it's not mine, and Chewie is leaving. I don't know where Dagobah is, and I don't know if he'll take me."

"Luke, it is time to leave the excuses behind. Your friend has learned this as well."

"Are you talking about Han? Do you know what's happened to him? Is he with you? Dead?"

"His story is almost complete. Events have transpired which makes your situation more urgent. Darth Vader has learned of your identity and has destroyed the base on Hoth. He is searching for you. You must be trained, so you will be ready when you meet."

"Vader?" Luke felt a chill. "Ben, I…." he faltered.

"You must be trained, Luke. The Empire will only fall when Darth Vader and the Emperor are destroyed. You will bring peace to the galaxy."

Luke closed his eyes and opened them slowly. "But I'm just one man, Ben." He worried for his friends on Hoth. "The Rebellion is capable of doing so much more."

Ben's tone held warning. "Not when it comes to Vader and the Emperor," he said. "They have fallen to the dark side of the Force. Your light must combat it."

"Ben, I don't know…."

"When you have had time to think, Luke, you will feel the truth." Ben looked around him imploringly. "I am unable to keep a corporeal connection long, Luke. I can't stay like this much longer. But I am with you, as I promised. I have been watching, guiding when I can. I hope you feel me."

"I miss you," Luke said again, rolling in his cot. "I'm so glad to see you again, I can't tell you. Ben?"

Luke sat up, gasping. He hadn't been dreaming; it was a vision. A Force vision. Excitement rippled through him. This was real, he still had the Force. Ever since Ben's death he had doubted it. Ben had taught him to find focus with his eyes closed, but without Ben he couldn't see straight. Meditation, light saber practice, it was all an exercise in futility. But now Ben had brought it back to him, in a flood of knowledge and purpose.

He went to wake the others.

"I know it sounds crazy," Luke told Leia and Chewie when they had assembled in the lounge with hot mugs of kaf. They had left the droid shut down. Leia's hair was too tidy to have been lying on a pillow. The Wookiee's eyes were bleary and worried.

As soon as they were seated Luke was embarrassed and didn't know where to start. If he worked hard enough he would be able to convince himself easily he hadn't talked with Ben. How was he to convince them? Gamely, he took a deep breath and plunged in. "I…. I had a Force vision. Just now. Not a dream." He took in the expressions of his friends, helpful and expecting. "I'm to go to Dagobah and train as a Jedi," he began.

He gave them the details of his vision. It was important to him, somehow, to impart not just the content of the conversation, but the details and sensations. He finished with a big exhale of relief, glad it was out of him. Leia was looking at him with eyes wide and surprised, maybe even a little frightened. Chewie's entire body was intent.

Chewie spoke at length. Both Leia and Luke struggled to listen and keep up, their knowledge limited as Han or 3P0 were always around to translate.

Luke shook his head in firm befuddlement. "I don't know, Chewie. But it was Ben. It was. I could feel him. And he showed me this planet, Dagobah, and said Yoda lived there and would train me."

The Wookiee yelped and spilled his kaf.

"Yes, I'm he sure he said 'Yoda'" Luke answered. "Why?"

Chewie woofed an answer and Luke heard "He is a friend of the trees."

Leia was quicker. "Does that mean this Yoda was from Kashyyyk? Is he a Wookiee?

"No," Chewie shook his head. "But that is where I knew a Yoda."

"You know him?" Leia exclaimed in disbelief. "Chewie, how would you come to know him? Have you and Han smuggled on Dagobah?"

Luke frowned. "It didn't look like the kind of place for smuggling," he said.

"...war? The Clone Wars! I didn't know you served, Chewie." Leia was revisiting old history lessons. "I do remember hearing about the battle for Kashyyykk." She turned to Luke. "That was over twenty years ago. How does a Jedi General wind up on Dagobah? It does sound crazy. What if it was just a dream? But how would you dream up a real being?" The more she thought about it, the more flabbergasted she became. It was just too pat, too coincidental, too weird.

"There must be a way to prove it. Fly to Dagobah, see if there is a Yoda there. See if Chewie's Yoda from the Clone Wars is the same as this one on Dagobah. Or," Luke was thinking back to his conversation with Ben, "what about Hoth? Ben told me Vader had learned of it and destroyed the base."

Leia paled. "I'll see if I can reach Carlist. General Rieekan," she corrected. "Maybe the holonews has an item on it. If it was an Imperial victory you know they'll cover it on the news."

"I'll check," Luke offered. He dropped into a seat at a tech console and pulled up the holoweb.

He found it soon enough; still scrolling as one of the top stories. The Empire indeed had learned of the Rebellion's Hoth base and deployed ground weapons to destroy it.

"Oh my stars," Leia breathed as she read over Luke's shoulder. "Carlist isn't answering his personal comm." She hadn't expected him to. It was far too risky out in space, messages vulnerable to splicers. And if he had managed to evacuate, he wouldn't have much information for her. He and the others aboard transport ships would scatter, regrouping at a later place and time. Or, and she really didn't want to think about this, he could have been killed.

"Do you think they had time to evacuate most?" Leia whispered. She gripped her arms tightly, trying not to shake.

"Probably," Luke assured her. "The Empire can't have slipped into the system, not with all that meteor activity. Surely our radars picked them up." He squeezed Leia's arm reassuringly. "It's not our first evacuation or battle, Leia. We're pros at leaving, you know that."

She nodded, but still felt shaken. "Gone," she said, her voice hollow and hushed. "First Han and now this." Leia was distinctly aware of feeling lost. Nothing was sure anymore. She had learned that, hard, with the destruction of Alderaan. Her reality had withered to military bases and a tiny group of friends. Very tiny. Han and Luke primarily. Her two constants. But as her life continued without Alderaan she had built a new reality, and like any human had fallen into the trap of delusional routine. It was all gone, again. There was no constant. Never. Han was gone. So was Alderaan, the Hoth base. Life was cruel, was all she knew now. Random and cruel. She missed Han.

Chewie looked at them from the entryway, took in their desperation and longing. One for a future; the other to just hope for one. Chewie's future lay with Han. If somehow he was wrong, and he had failed Han, then he would have to forge a new future for himself. He wanted to give these two a future.

"I will set course for Dagobah," he told them.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Leia often dreamed of the Death Star. It wasn't always the same dream, but more often than not it would be the setting of her dream.

Once she had dreamed of walking the corridors, conversing with Darth Vader while miles and miles of Storm Troopers lined their path. In another she and Luke were senselessly looking for the plans to the Death Star while it was already scheduled to blow, and red blaster fire careened around them, and every new corner revealed a chasm they had to cross.

Now the floors of the Death Star were ice covered in durocrete. Leia and Han had no trouble walking but the storm troopers they passed slipped and flailed on the ice, their limbs comically thrown in the air.

Han had his arm across her and his hand rested on her hip, pressing her to him. They walked in unison, inner legs stepping together, hers somehow matching his stride. She wore her Senate gown and their breath fogged in the air. There was a heat coming from his hand on her hip but she was cold.

They came to the inevitable chasm, wide and deep, and Han stopped. He pointed and she followed his finger. The chasm wall was kilometers deep, glistening silver, beautiful.

"There," Han announced, still pointing. "Alderaanian Puzzle Gems."

"Puzzle Gems," Leia corrected. "I'm Alderaanian."

"Right," he answered, looking at her with deep emotion. "That's what I said."

"No, on Alderaan they were just Puzzle Gems." She held his eyes, so warm; no one else looked at her like that.

"Well, here they're called Alderaanian Puzzle Gems. Because of the crime. They can't forget it." Han stepped back and then ran forward, leaping across the chasm. He lay on his stomach and began to pluck Puzzle Gems out of the chasm's wall.

Leia wanted to follow but was certain she could not make the jump. "Han," she called. "Come back."

"Here," he said, and tossed the mined gems to her. They looked like thermal detonators. "Throw them."

Leia caught one and turned around. Storm troopers were behind her, legs slipping and trying to find purchase, arms holding blasters but waving wildly.

She threw the Puzzle Gem into their ranks and a terrific explosion shattered the air. Leia felt the warm wave of heat touch her cheeks and blow her hair but her stance did not falter.

Her eyes gleamed and she faced Han again, palms out to catch more gems. "It works," she shouted.

"Told ya," he called back, just as happy and tossed her some more."Use them to finance your rebellion."

She kept throwing them into the mass of troopers, disappointed in his answer, watching as the army fell over the edge to disappear in the chasm. Eventually and inexplicably enough bodies narrowed its width and she was able to jump across. Han grabbed her hand and they ran back out into the icy corridors.

Once again troopers were too busy staying balanced to notice the pair.

"I don't have anymore Puzzle Gems," Leia said, trying to stop Han by placing a hand on his bicep.

"It's OK," he dismissed her. "We're just walking."

"But I can win this war," Leia said. "I can win it," she insisted, resisting Han's hand and trying to turn back. He held her forward, strong, while she pined for Puzzle Gems and the desire to win.

Leia woke. Her breath came fast but she lay very still on her side, processing the dream.

She had the feeling, marginally, that she was winning. By throwing gems that were really bombs at storm troopers. But they never stopped coming. She had the feeling Han could mine gems forever as well, but now in the harsh lighting of the freighter's cabin, it seemed a pointless way to fight a war.

Han said to finance the rebellion.

Han.

Always talking money. Eyes so full of understanding, hands so warm. Showing her gems, giving her weapons.

Han was missing.

Her hand went to her hip, where he had touched her. So warm. She parted her lips and closed her eyes, then opened them. The heating vent was above her, on the ceiling. She waited, and after a few minutes her suspicions were confirmed. The heating system activated and warm air crossed her cheeks, wafted over the top of her side and breezed across her hip.

Disappointed, she got out of bed. It was just a dream.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out what Han has gotten himself into...

Han took his final drink of recycled water. He had emptied flasks of coolant on the shuttle and filled them with the recycled water from the 'fresher. Not very appetizing, but he would need water for the hike through the desert. He glared at the flask and tossed it aside. There was more in it, but it was hot, and tasted metallic. He didn't need anymore, anyway.  _Desert can have it._

  
The hike through the desert had been brutal, and he'd taken to muttering aloud to himself. The air was dry, too hot, and he never saw his sweat. The sand was deep and loose and lent him a wobbly, unbalanced stride. But right now he was free and it was exhilarating and punishing at the same time. The sky was one shade of blue, but the sands on the ground had countless hues of the same color. It was almost beautiful.

  
The suns blistered the skin on the back of his neck, face and hands. The sand and rock was so hot that Han found himself checking the soles of his boots a number of times, certain the heat had burned a hole through them.  
The fortified palace of Jabba the Hutt was just steps away. Han turned around. He couldn't see the freighter any longer. He was almost glad to be inside just to get a respite from the relentless suns. Why humans settled on this desolate planet he would never understand.

  
He wouldn't find too many humans inside Jabba's home. One Hutt, gigantic and slimy, with an appetite as great as his greed. The palace attracted a more primitive type of sentient, bloodthirsty and violent.

  
_Don't want to meet the human that calls this place home._

  
He wouldn't let himself admit he'd once felt at home here among the depravity. Now he was on the other side, a visitor, whose place in the palace was never certain.

  
He felt lonely more than alone. But he refused to think about it. It was no place for Luke, certainly not Leia, not even Chewie. He steeled himself. This was not a pleasure call.

  
He paused for a steadying breath, then approached the mechanized sentry.  _Hew and fell_ , he told himself. It was a Wookiee battle adage. Wait, that didn't seem to fit. _Smooth talk or die_ , was more like it. He stifled a laugh, such wisdom.  _Get a grip, Solo. You're gettin' hysterical._

  
The door opened. He was greeted by a half dozen Gamorrean guards, each carrying their sort of vibro ax. They surrounded him, grunting and waving their weapons in a threatening manner. They pushed him forward, but didn't strike or even bind him. Apparently he'd been identified. Jabba would want to deal with him himself. They ushered him through the corridors tunneled out of bedrock. Inside it was dark, darker still while his eyes adjusted. He had forgotten how bad it smelled in here; forgotten how the decadent lifestyle allowed rotting food, urine and vomit to litter the floor. Sand was spread around to absorb odors and mess.

  
But it was familiar, and it filled him with a self-hatred. How often he had stayed after a run, stayed for the free booze, sex and gambling. Contributed to the odor by throwing food at a hapless victim, getting sick on too much drink.  _Not going there_.  
He had never been innocent; not even as a child. But he'd certainly come into his own here, wasting his youth, soaking up experiences which eroded whatever he had once valued.

  
It amazed him now to recall his dispassion for what he did with his life. He'd never given a second thought to those who bought Jabba's spice on the planet he delivered it. Never thought twice about a sex slave, looked her in the eye or asked her name. Never given a shit. He had his own life to live, and it was going fine. Everyone was responsible for themselves. If you wound up in a bad situation you had no one to count on but yourself.

  
_Karma's come to bite me on the ass._  He'd made his own situation, alright. Lost that shipment and couldn't cover the money. Looking back on himself, it was no wonder every being he turned to for help turned him down. He'd lived a selfish, no worse – a narcissistic life.

  
And now it was a worthless life. He was almost flabbergasted that Chewie stayed around, Life Debt or not. Something the old man had said came to mind.  _Who's more the fool: the fool, or the fool who follows him?_

  
_Yeah, right._  Chewie was no fool, but he stuck around nonetheless. Probably regretted that Life Debt a hundred times. What had compelled him to rescue Chewie anyway? He was no hero. Every act after that was proof. Chewie had made a big mistake.  
_Wonder how long it'll take the big oaf to figure out I've come here._

  
Luke and Leia were certain to slow him down. Leia would want to get back to base. She didn't allow personal reasons to interfere with Rebellion business. She had such a clear view of purpose, it amazed him. Infuriated him, too, but that was him being selfish again. He was not a man to dwell but for the first time he felt something like regret. It would have been nice to say a proper farewell.

  
_Who are you kidding?_ he chided himself. She'd be pissed as all hells he was leaving, and not because she wanted him to stay, even though she wanted him to stay.  _The smell must be gettin' to me. I'm making no sense._

  
Then there was Luke, who he definitely wouldn't say good bye to. Tried that before, on Yavin, and got met with a big puddle of disappointment and judgment in those blue eyes.  _Nah-uh. Not falling for that again._

  
Han snapped his attention to the present. They were approaching the throne.

  
Jabba reclined on his raised seat. As always, endless items of delectable Hutt foods were in reach, as was the spice bong. He looked even bigger than Han remembered him.

  
Jabba moved his fingers imperceptibly. Apparently it was a signal to the Gamorreans, for they stopped. Han spoke before Jabba's fury bubbled over to instant death.

  
"Most illustrious Jabba," Han bowed. He straightened, and couldn't help smirking. "I've returned."

  
"Solo," menaced Jabba. He made another movement, a flick of the wrist, and every weapon was trained on Han. He was careful to step back off the metal grating that was actually a feeding entrance for the rancor down below. Han was going to try and get the kind of death he would prefer. Definitely not as a rancor's meal.

  
"This is most unexpected," Jabba announced. Han saw that Jabba was surprised, and he took a deep breath, feeling there might be a way to salvage this.

  
"I was getting bored," Han said. "All those hunters you sent after me. You know how many I killed?"

  
Jabba pounded his tiny fist on the ledge by his side and Han watched his body fat jiggle down to his tail. Then again, maybe this wasn't the way to handle it, he emended. "I've come to collect the bounty," he stated boldly.

  
Jabba's eyes widened. "What?" he elongated the word in a Huttese growl.

  
"No Hunter could get me. I'm handin' myself in. Check for yourself – no Wookiee, no ship. I'm declaring the bounty on me. Filed the paperwork with the guild," he lied. "You pay me, I pay you back."

  
Jabba had grabbed a rubbery tubular creature while Han spoke and he swallowed it the wrong way in a fury.

  
"It's a fair deal," Han offered. He was hoping the Hutt's greed would countermand his pride. At least with Han's self-surrender, there'd be no bounty to pay out. And the cost of the lost cargo would never be recovered, not with his capture. The way Han saw it, it was a win-win deal.

  
"The bounty entails a death mark," Jabba coughed.

  
"Yeah," Han drawled, "I figured if I killed myself it'd be hard to surrender."

  
"What is to stop me killing you now?" Jabba questioned in Huttese. "More than three years have passed since you lost a shipment of mine. You told me many times since then you were good for it. I know you made an effort, Solo my boy. For a time, you made an effort. I have ways of learning these things."

  
"I know you do, Jabba." The Hutt used to call Han 'my boy', back in the days when Han was his star smuggler. Maybe it was a good sign. Or maybe it's Hutt gallows humor. "And I did make an effort."  _For a while, anyway._  
"And then you shot Greedo," Jabba pounced.

  
The memory of the Rodian in the cantina made Han forget he was fighting for his life. "Greedo was going to shoot me," Han said in righteous indignation. "He was going to take my ship and skip out on you. I did us both a favor."

  
Jabba chuckled and again his fat jiggled its way down to the tail. "I haven't heard from you since then."

  
"Yeah, well, I was busy. You didn't seem willing to talk."

  
"No. Not with your complete disregard. You think you are better than any Hutt, Solo? You think you are above treatment?"

  
Han knew the conversation would end soon. Huttese was a slow-spoken, drawn out language that Hutts, in Han's experience, tired of using with non-Hutts. "No, Jabba, that isn't it. I know I owe you, and I do have the money -"

  
"You've said that to any Hunter who manages to speak to you!" Jabba's hand moved again and Han was hit behind the knees by the pikes surrounding him. He sank to the sand and struggled to get up, new blows raining down on him.

  
_Come on_ , he coached himself.  _Get to standing_. They hit him on his head and shoulders and some into his side and back, on his legs. There was no predictable pattern and Han clenched his teeth, trying to control how he fell and reeled until he was able to drop low into a fighting stance and maintain his balance. He risked speech again, arms up, protecting his head. He felt a throbbing on his back.

  
"And I wasn't lying!,"he shouted hurriedly. "I do have it. I got reward money for rescuing a princess."

  
"Spare me the fairy tale, Solo." The blows stopped; Han apparently had missed a hand movement.

  
_Does sound like one, don't it._  "It's true, Jabba. Every word. You must have heard stories."

  
"Yes, Solo, I have. Indeed I have. Running with the Rebellion."

  
Han shrugged self-deprecatingly. "Smuggling. They pay. Always been thinking of you, Jabba," he flattered, though it had been true, "tryin' to make interest on what I owe you. War is steady work."

  
"I will have you killed, Solo," Jabba began to proclaim his sentence on Solo. "But in due time. First you might be useful to me. And if you are, then perhaps you will die after a long and productive service to me." Jabba moved his arm again, like a conductor, Han thought, just before the Gamorreans surrounded him and clubbed him senseless.

  
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

  
A scattering noise, like….he couldn't quite place it. Eyes closed, he listened again. Not an animal, anyway. That was reassuring. He had a memory of throwing dice, the little cubes rolling and bouncing across a wooden table. Almost. This was more a light tossing, somehow up rather than down. And more than two. Where was he?

  
He opened his eyes and there was nothing to see. His breath came a little faster and he tried again. Nothing. Why was it so dark? He lifted his hand, found it heavy, dragged down by a chain. He waved his hand in the air and the chain rattled. Shackles.

  
He persisted, raised his hand in front of his face and waved in front of his eyes. The darkness was perfect, absolute. He spread his fingers and left them there, willing his eyes to make out shapes.

  
He fought panic. The blackness was total.  _No no no no no_. Where the fuck am I?

  
He closed his eyes, listened for the pinging noise. It was gentle. His eyes felt bleary; his hands heavy. He scrabbled his fingers on the ground and came up with sand.

  
Sand! He remembered now. He straightened his leg; found it was shackled at the ankle. He dug his heel into the sand, found it was quite deep. And cool in the under layer. He wriggled his rear, conforming the sand to the shape of his body. How so dark, though, he wondered. Tatooine had two suns. Daylight lasted a long time. Was he underground? He didn't think so. The throne room was underground, where the air was cooler. It was very hot where he was, his shirt soaked with sweat. So up in the fortress then, with no windows.

  
This was only Jabba's. He could play this game. He'd been on the other side before, but he knew how to play. If Jabba was going to let him play.

  
Han lifted a hand to his head, instinctively found a crusted-over lump. He closed his eyes again and breathed deep, to relax his body, became aware of numerous aches and cuts.

  
He'd been knocked out. That was fine, that was within the parameters of the game. Not being able to see though…..he didn't like that. And shackled wasn't good news either.

  
He thought back to when he'd been a welcome guest at Jabba's. Seated at the gaming table, turning to watch the procession. A procession of Punisheds. That's right, his lips moved in whispered affirmation. Slaves, the disfavored, those set to be executed. All paraded in one group. So which was he?

  
He had a sense the place he was in was cavernous. "Anyone here?" he called hesitantly. Only the gentle brushing noise answered. It came from outside, he realized. More sand; the wind blowing sand on the fortress. One day it would take it down, erode it to crumbs. Not soon enough for him, though.

  
Well, Han considered. No doubt his questions would be answered. The important thing was to say sharp, stay healthy. He decided to rest. His body hurt, all over. He hoped he was a Punished. That game went on a while. Slave, no. Never. Of the choices that was worst in his book. At least execution was quick; slave went on with no end. A slave would be lucky to die but Jabba actually had a doctor on staff to see that at least they continued to function with a certain capacity. Maimed, diseased, detested, but they still slaved.

  
He tried not to second guess himself. If he'd told Chewie….Chewie would come soon and break him out. But no. He reminded himself sternly why he hadn't told Chewie. His partner wouldn't have gone along with any plan; it was not the Wookiee way. He was a warrior and only went into battle, in the front lines. Chewie would be dead, Jabba would have the  _Falcon_ , too. That was the worst of the scenarios. Chewie was an admirable partner, fierce and loyal, but he tended to have the same answer no matter how the dice landed. Han wound up dead in all of them, he couldn't get out of that, but he wasn't going to ask others to go down with him.

  
So right now he was a prisoner. This was new to him, but he prided himself on his flexibility. He wasn't going to despair yet. His mind drifted to Leia, running behind Luke up the Death Star detention area corridor, assessing their situation faster than he did and taking matters into her own hands. Would he be ready to do that? he wondered. He shook his head, allowing himself to enjoy his memory of her, that clipped authoritative voice and sheer spunk.

  
He had expected Luke to bring out a broken, unapproachable and rich woman, along for the ride and grateful. They would make their escape but it would be joyless, obligatory. It would be work. He would have deserved the reward.

  
Instead Luke was noticeably intimidated by a young woman with a barbed tongue and penchant for snapping orders. She was to be executed, had seen her planet's destruction, but her whole demeanor was full of vigor and purpose. She practically got them off the Death Star and Han Solo had found his match, was left staring open mouthed and motionless in the corridors. He had a moment when he almost wanted to hand her the reward and tell her she needed it more than he did. Almost.

  
He  _had_  handed her the Medal of Bravery she'd awarded him later after the Battle of Yavin. And he had told her she deserved it more than he had. As with many of their interactions, she took it the wrong way, thought he was scorning her traditions, and had stomped angrily away. He had stood there, shaking his head as he watched her walk away, thinking, one day, _Sweetheart, I am gonna lay it on the table._

  
Han sighed. That day was not likely to come. He never even came close. There always generals, droids and Luke around, and he was just a smuggler. He knew how they regarded him. Probably as they should. But she didn't; not usually. Only when he was being a prickly sonofabitch, and then she didn't do it for snobbishness. She was a Princess, but she valued people. Even found he had something of value occasionally.

  
He gave a nod of determination.  _Alright, Princess. This one's for you_. He was a prisoner now. He'd met one before and saw how it was done. "Leia," he whispered.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a rough landing on Dagobah.

Leia dreamed she was back again with Han on the Death Star. They had split off from General Kenobi and Luke. She was anxious to get back to the Millennium Falcon but Han did not feel the urgency. He spied the cafeteria and wanted to stop to eat; they found the library and he wanted to go in and see if the Death Star carried Tales of a Corellian Princess; they opened a door and found themselves in a supply closet and he wanted to try officer uniforms on. She would place a hand on his bicep, trying to get him to focus, remind him they needed to escape.

He was cheerful, unhurried, and his complete faith in their lack of danger was oddly reassuring, despite her own worries.  
They rejoined Luke in the garbage masher, and while the walls were closing in his large hands were around her waist, hoisting her to the top of the junk pile, and he was looking up at her, telling her about the great sacrifice the Corellian Princess made for love in the book, and she was listening like there was nothing else going on in the room. The dream was showing a level of depth she was only beginning to find in him after three years. Or maybe in herself.

There came a loud lurch, and she turned to Han to ask him what he thought that was, when she woke up. The ship had uttered a clunking thud, and Leia's stomach flipped as the ship seemed to just be dropping. She hurried out of bed and rushed to the cockpit.

Luke was in the captain's seat, yelling "I know, I know, I know," to Chewie's thundering observations. Leia had never seen the console look so busy; red and yellow lights were flashing all over the board. "3P0, make sure the oxygen masks are working," Luke ordered.

"Yes, Master Luke." The golden droid plodded awkwardly past Leia.

"What happened?" she asked, gripping the back of Luke's seat.

"Life support's failed," Luke tersely answered her.

She mouthed a silent what? but didn't interrupt them. Her thoughts raced. First the coolant system, then the water recycling unit, now life support. The ship seemed to be falling apart.

"What is going on with this ship?" Luke echoed her thoughts aloud.

Chewbacca gave a short answer just as C-3PO came back with three masks. He handed one to Leia.

"I didn't quite catch that," Luke called back to Chewie. "Sounded like you said 'leaves are falling.'"

Leia had understood something similar, and she thought it meant the ship was dying. "How bad is it, Luke?"

Chewie brushed past her. "I will fix it," he told them.

"You understood First Mate Chewbacca correctly, Master Luke. The expression usually refers to a time in a Wookiee's life when they begin to approach death and withdraw from the tribe," 3-P0 explained.

So she was right. The ship was dying. "Do we need the masks, Luke?" Leia asked.

He shook his head and blond tendrils of his hair moved around his collar. Leia thought he needed a hair cut. "No, it's not critical level yet. We've got time. If Chewie can get it back online we'll be fine. Hold together, baby," Luke implored the ship.

Leia smiled. "That's smart; talk to her just like Han would."

"I thought Han had her in a lot better shape," Luke said resentfully. "He spent enough time on repairs before we left."

"We did have a great flight over – made record time, remember?" Leia said.

Luke nodded. "Yeah, well. Since then, everything's going wrong."

Chewbacca reentered the cockpit, giving Leia a knowing nod as he brushed past her. "It's fixed," he told them.

"Thank goodness," Luke sighed in relief. "I sure hope nothing else goes wrong before we land."

"The landing thrusters will fail," Chewie predicted.

Both Luke and Leia looked in astonishment at Chewie. "How in all hells do you know that?" Luke demanded.

Chewie gave a shrug. "You said you'd poison the coolant lines and they failed. The Princess announced she would replace all the liquor with water, and the recyclers broke down. I said I'd dislocate his shoulders. Landing thrusters correspond to shoulders, in a way. They hold the ship up. Like shoulders hold Han's web-woven brains." Chewie shook his fist in the air.

"That's just superstition," Leia said.

"It is impossible for a ship to convert conversation into mechanical function," C-3P0 said.

Luke, knowing they were on their way to Dagobah based on a conversation he'd had through a Force ghost, wasn't going to discount anything. "Can you fix them, Chewie? Before we land?"

"They are functioning now," Chewie gestured at the console board diagnostic screen. "It will happen when we land."

"I really wish Han were here," Luke sighed. "I don't like sitting in his seat."

Chewie patted the top of his head. "Both of you go back," he told Luke and Leia. "We will enter Dagobah's orbit in three standard hours."

"OK." Luke stood, raised his eyebrows sympathetically at Leia. She raised a hand and squeezed his bicep, testing the feel. When she had touched Han like that the first time on the real Death Star his arm had a grounding, collecting effect. He was warm and firm and she was safe. Luke looked at her questioningly and she offered a small smile, sad he couldn't tell her she was safe.

  
"At least we understand Shyriiwook, now," Luke said. "But I'm not going to sleep. Let's eat before the galley stops functioning."

"I'm not hungry," Leia told him.

Luke scrutinized her. "You've hardly eaten anything the past two days. And you've had a headache. I can tell you haven't been sleeping. You're falling apart too."

Leia was looking at her hands. She rubbed her knuckles. "Maybe I am," she admitted softly.

"You're taking this hard," Luke stated.

"No, I'm not really," Leia protested.

"Yes, you are. I mean, I'm worried too. I want to know what's happened, I want Han to be OK, but I'm eating, I'm sleeping." He pressed a button on the warmer and got two plates down from a cabinet.

"It's not just Han," Leia said.

"Then what is it?"

"It's…," she sighed, thinking. It was Han, but it was everything else too. "It's Hoth, it's Han… We try so hard and …..we're not really losing, but we're not really making any progress, either. I'm just so tired, Luke. Tired of fighting, tired of losing." In truth, Leia was finding it hard to find a point to anything anymore. She was swathed in hopelessness.

Luke nodded and passed her a plate of warmed moren noodles. He didn't know what to say. He had seen Leia like this before, morose and near self-surrender. She had not said anything of her ordeal on the Death Star, but knew she'd undergone interrogation and torture. He knew enough from training on base that it scarred a being in more ways than one. He could entirely understand why she felt the way she did. He had even allowed her to feel that way, thinking she needed it. But Han had never let it go on for long. Luke had always thought Han was tactless and unfeeling, but right now he saw Leia's pattern of behavior a bit dangerous.

 _That's what I need right now_ , Luke thought.  _A Han-ism. He'd say something and snap her out of it_. But he couldn't think of anything. So he told her the truth.

"Han never lets you wallow in a mood like this for long," he told her.

Leia smiled, the only one she had left, it seemed. Small and sad. "He'd be picking a fight right about now," she agreed. She sat motionless, thinking.

"I'm dead inside, Luke. I'm not falling apart. I've been dead." She waved her hand so that Luke wouldn't see her chin begin to tremble. "I just… I wake up every day and there's just, there's nothing. In me, to me."

"You're not dead," Luke told her, moving to sit beside her and put his arms around her shoulders. "What you've been through….I have a hard time, sometimes, still, about my aunt and uncle and Ben. And I'm so simple. Your story is so complicated. You're grieving. It'd be wrong not to. But, I think, you need to know that it's a process, not a state of being. That it can't take over everything you are."

Leia nodded again and tears spilled out her eyes and dripped onto her clasped hands.

"Han is your spark, isn't he?" Luke realized. "He keeps bringing you back to us."

Leia was unable to speak for a moment. She could picture Han, stooping to her height, bending to her eye level, his eyes watchful and caring, his tone hostile and challenging. "I've been dreaming of him," she confessed.

Luke nodded, thinking you need him. "I'll try and act like him for you," he told her with a smile. "Next time you say you're not hungry. I'll insult you and call you names."

Now Leia's smile was genuine. "Please, no," she laughed. "One Han Solo is enough." She picked at her noodles for a bit. "Have you had any more visions?" she asked Luke.

He shook his head, feeling his apprehension return in full force. "No. I'm nervous as all hells. I keep telling myself we're making a big mistake."

"My turn," Leia said. "For counsel." She met his eyes. "Don't doubt yourself. Ever. Since I've known you Luke, you've done such amazing things. There's always been something different about you, this sense of purpose, this… "she shook her head, unable to express it. "Anyway, you need to go to Dagobah, see what's leading you there."

"You don't think I'm crazy?"

Leia squirmed in her seat. "I'm hoping you're not," she said slyly.

Luke slumped in mock dejection. "Gee, thanks," he said and she laughed. "You think I'm different, huh? I remember thinking the same about you, when I saw that holomessage R2 was carrying. How beautiful you were, how you were in trouble but not like a damsel in distress, you know? You always had purpose too."

"Well, I don't know about beautiful," Leia said. "I've never thought in terms like that. But, yes. I've always known what to do."  _Have I changed that much?_ she wondered.

Luke chewed for a bit before venturing his next thought. "For someone who feels she's dead inside, you sure had some attitude on that Death Star. Remember what you said when you first saw me?"

Leia laughed. "Yes. And I wasn't much better when we met Han at the other end."

"You scared me," Luke confessed. "Princess, beautiful, rich, sarcastic."

"I have always blamed Han for starting every argument," Leia realized, her head cocked. "But I did it first, didn't I?"

"You two have a tradition," Luke said. He leaned forward on his elbows and regarded her seriously. "Leia, we're in a kind of limbo right now. On our way to to be able to do more. So don't give up, on him, on the war. Be patient, and wait. We need to wait. There'll come an answer, you'll see. Waiting isn't the same as dying, alright? That's all I can say."

Leia considered Luke's words. "You say there'll come an answer. To what's happened to Han, too? Did your vision," she shook her head, only able to personify a vision,"mention Han?"

Luke fidgeted with his bowl before answering. He slurped a noodle in slow motion. "Ben said his story was almost complete." The words came out like they dragged themselves.

Her eyes widened. "'Almost complete'? What does that mean? He'll die?"

Luke held her eyes a long time, trying not to let his fears show. "I don't know. But somehow, I feel going to Dagobah is going to lead us to Han."

Leia nodded. "I don't want him to die," she told him. "Do you think he's on Dagobah?"

Luke shook his head. "No. At least Ben didn't indicate so. I think that's for me. But we don't know where we're going after that, and I think we'll be prompted there, somehow."

"I'm along for the ride. I'll help where I can."

"Good. Your Princessship. How's that? Did I channel him right?"

Leia whack him on the arm. "Don't even try."

They passed the time in companionable silence until Chewie called them that he was bringing the ship out of hyperspace. Leia took a seat in the navigator's chair while Luke once again occupied Han's. Chewie had control of the ship from his over-sized copilot's seat. Leia found her palms were sweaty.

They all stared out the cockpit window at the planet that was shaping their destiny.

"Sensing anything?" Leia asked Luke. He shook his head, eyes drinking in the detail of the planet from afar. It looked to be as Ben had shown him. Verdant and wet.

An alarm sounded from the console board. "I don't believe it," Luke wailed. "Landing thrusters are down!"

Chewie rose with a resigned sigh. "Told you," he muttered.


	6. Chapter 6

The door opened, carefully, quietly. The light of the door revealed the man curled up in the sand. The girl slipped in. She bent over him. His injuries didn't seem too bad. Not enough to prevent him doing what they wanted of her.

He was human, at least. It was awful between non-humans. Young, still clean, pleasant looking. She'd heard he'd come to Jabba on his own. That he'd spoken familiarly, arrogantly.

She placed two fingers to his forehead. He shivered and curled more tightly into a ball. Quickly she withdrew. She knew her hands were cold and she didn't want to rouse him. Not yet. She bent to retrieve her chains and quiet them as she went back and closed the door.

She closed her eyes in dismay. Scuttled away in the corner and shivered like the man. She knew they wouldn't get what they wanted. His circumstances were much different than any others here. Obviously foolhardy, but not a fool. She was likely to fail. She found the wall, carved the night's number. Her last night.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Damn Hoth. Where was his parka anyway? There was a draft on his forehead. So godsdamned cold. His numb hands picked through the metal on the floor, grains of snow and ice sticking to his fingertips, the metal rattling._

_He shivered. It was just so cold. He kicked out and the metal rattled._

Han kicked out and the metal rattled. He opened his eyes. He was on the ground, shivering. But it wasn't Hoth. He had woken himself, dreaming of being cold on the Rebel base.

He hadn't remembered falling asleep, but maybe it had been time well spent. He touched his head, the chain following his movement. The bruise was still tender.

The palace. Why was it so cold? He stood, brushing the sand away on his pants from his hands and found he could stand to his full height. So he wasn't shackled to the wall or floor. Good. Still dark, though. He had a sense his eyes were working. There was just nothing to see. He hoped. Did beings gone blind still feel they had sight? Like if they just kept trying hard enough they could force themselves to see?

Tentatively he took a step, his hands groping along the rough wall. He lifted his leg high, then out, found he wasn't shackled to the floor from his ankles, either.

_Let's take a walk_ , he told himself.

He tried to get his bearings, open his senses. The noise was different, he realized. Not the gentle pinging of the wind fluttering sand against the foundation but a howling and rushing. Sandstorm maybe. Was it night? That would explain the cold. Funny how the fortress blocked all the light of the suns but it couldn't stop the sound of sand.

The room he was in was very large. He wondered how he knew that. He sensed it opened wide and moved toward the center.

No furnishings, nothing. A smell. Han wrinkled his nose. He turned in a circle, smelling, listening, strengthening his other senses.

The smell was nasty. And familiar. Han searched through memories until he found it.  _Great. A piss hole._

Out in the center of the room he stretched his arms out, felt suddenly and completely disoriented. Where was the wall? Which way had he come? Which fucking way is forward or down? He stood, arms out, nostrils flaring, and fought panic. 

_Stop, just stop. It's a cell. It's all the same. Find the piss hole. Use it, bury it._

He dropped to his knees and crawled, feeling dizzy. Soon he tried to still his labored breathing because….

Where was it? He crawled more, listening. Something else was breathing. It wasn't the wind; he was sure of that.

He crept along and soon the other sounds of breathing halted. Han waited, holding his own breath. He was confident he'd last longer. Sure enough, there it came, a shuddering inhale. So he wasn't alone.

It wasn't possible to be noiseless. Not with the shackles dragging through the sand. Better be ready if they found him first. He wondered if they could see.

And without any warning his hand landed on something warm and smooth and alive that squirmed and yelped and jerked itself away.

He chased after it. "Wait," he called. "Wait."

His cellmate wore shackles too and Han's ears had no trouble following it. He crawled faster, hands slapping the sand and when he slapped the body again he jumped on it.

He didn't know why he was so anxious to see who was in here with him. But his cellmate didn't share his viewpoint. The body wriggled, bucked and kicked, but he had it.

"Shh," Han commanded. His hands felt along the body, which had frozen in place, first moving upward, quickly, til he found the head. The being had hair, long, matted, and fuzzy feeling. The head was small, the features on the face delicate.

"Who are you?" Han asked. Now he was on the shoulders, felt the sharp ridges of the joint and clavicle. This creature was all bones. And flesh; he was touching skin, not clothing.

Oh. He brushed the torso and realized as the being pushed him to his rear violently she had breasts. And finally, some fabric. It covered the top half of her torso. There was more, wafer thin, around her waist.

"Sorry, sorry," he said, almost soothingly, hands stopping their search. "I'm not going to hurt you. Are you human?" he asked. He could sense movement, but whether or not the being shook her head or nodded he couldn't determine. Or maybe she was shivering. It was damned cold.

"Do you speak Basic?"

"Yes." She cleared her throat, her voice thick and unused. "To both." Now her voice was surer.

"Can you see?" Han demanded. _Tell me I'm not blind_.

"Not in here. Out there, yes."

"You get to leave?" Han wondered.

"When they need me."

Han grabbed the shackles. "What do they need you for? You're in chains."

"They are removed."

Han frowned. Funny how when there was nothing to see he could picture his own gestures in his head. Like he was watching himself in a holo.

"Is this your… quarters?" Han asked. "You been in here before?"

The girl? maybe woman? Female anyway - hedged. "Sometimes."

"Sometimes," Han repeated. "You know, you aren't too helpful."

He had a sense she shrugged. "You will find your own routine in time."

"I don't want a routine. I want out."

"We all think like that."

"Yeah. But I  _am_  gettin' out. How long you been here?"

She took his wrist and led him around the cell. Han again felt a wild dizziness, like he was falling instead of walking, but he closed his eyes to stop them trying to see and just let her lead him.

"Touch," she directed. Han reached out and found bedrock. It was rough on his hands, and he ran his fingertips carefully over it, trying to learn what she was showing him. Grooves. Cuts. She was marking time. So she did come here a lot.

"A long time," he answered. His fingers caressed the wall again and he tried to imagine what months or years in a place like this would do to a person. "What do you do when you go out there?" Han gestured, even though he had no idea which way was out.

It was a moment before she answered. "Guest relations."

That had to be the stupidest euphemism he'd ever heard. Jabba's sick sense of humor.

Jabba played host to a continuing stream of visitors and guests. Some, like Han in past years, had come to receive payment or assignments; others for the sporting and gambling tournaments Jabba organized. These were both entertainment and a source of income for the Hutt. Anyone who lost to the palace found their Guest status revoked. Future earnings were garnished to the Hutt or he would arrange a period of indenture.

_Guest relations_ , Han mused. He heard Chewie's recriminations in his head; realized how reckless he really had been, entering the Sabacc matches or the races. But they'd been so intense, made him feel so alive. Because there was so much at stake. Not just money, but your whole godsdamned life. Chewie must have feared deeply for him. But Han had always been lucky, and good. He'd stayed on the right side of the shackles. Received the benefits of Jabba's guest relations.

"You're a sex slave," he told her contemptuously, but the disgust was for him.

Moments passed. "Yes," she answered finally.

"How long have you been here?"

"Six years."

"How did you come here? Were you stolen?"

"My parents sold me."

"Are you Tatooineii?"

"Yes."

Han whistled. Six years. "You must be smart."

"Smart and good." She put her hand on his crotch. He slapped it away.

"Stop it," he snapped.

"They put me in here with you."

"I'm in chains too. No different than you right now."

"They put me in here with you," she repeated and put her hand on his crotch again, pressed hard.

"Tell Jabba the chains ruin the mood." He moved her hand away again roughly.

"They said to offer you pleasure."

Han scoffed. "You said when you go out they remove your shackles. Why you wearing them now, if you've got a job to do?"

She didn't answer. "

Why?" he insisted but she held her silence. Han scratched his head. "I don't get it," he muttered. "This part of the game?"

"Game?"

"Never mind. What's your name?"

"Maranya. Yours is Solo."

"Is it night?" "Yes."

"Are you cold?"

"Yes. The nights without a body next to one are cold."

They stood there, regarding each other blindly in the dark. Han realized if he were in this situation years ago, after losing a race or Sabacc match, he wouldn't have survived. But now he had come on his own terms, and that small measure of control had won him a point.

"Well, then come here." Han tugged on her wrist, roughly pulled Maranya close to him and wriggled so their bodies were pocketed by sand and he was spooned behind her back. "Let's try and stay warm."

She flipped around so they were facing each other. Han wrapped his arm around her and again noticed how rail thin she was, the sharp texture of her vertebrae and ribs under his hands. She dug her pelvis into his and he tightened his hold on her.

"I said cut it," he growled.

She sighed in resignation. She had told the Overseer he wouldn't go for a sexing; that it was too soon. The Punisheds were watched; their decline planned from the first beating. This one had not railed the gods, had not wept, had not fought. He had, instead, reassured himself. His decline would be slow. And so she had begged the Overseer not to place her in here with him.

It was odd, sharing space with a man who had not made use of her. There had been others here, others like him and before him. Their first night, in chains. And they had taken their pleasure. It was their first step to surrender, to death.

He was going to be the end of her, she sensed it. She'd toiled and sexed for Jabba six long years. No other slave had sexed that long. Her time was up. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to prevent tears from leaking. Beside her, the man's body had relaxed, his breathing rhythmic and even. He was warm, at least. Her shivering had stopped. It was the only thing that kept her from grabbing a chain and throttling him with it or whipping him in a senseless fury. Her last night. But she was warm.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting Yoda

"Oh dear," C-3PO, halfway down the ramp, began to back track, bumping into Luke, who carried a pack of gear.

"Watch it, 3-P0," he warned.

"I am dreadfully sorry, Master Luke. I seemed to have dislodged your pack. I find I am having second thoughts. Somewhat unusual for a droid, but looking at the terrain indicates an environment most detrimental to my physical makeup. I feel it is better if I do not disembark."

"You mean you can't get wet?" Luke commented.

The protocol droid tried his best to help Luke recover the contents of the case. "Precisely, sir."

Chewie crowded with them on the hatchway, sniffing the air. He turned to Luke. "Do you know what Han would call your visit to this place?" he asked Luke, eyes twinkling.

Luke scanned what he could see from the hatch. Dark, wet branches were hints of the large trees submerged in the waters before them. "Swimming lessons?" he guessed.

Chewie laughed. "Good one," he answered.

The protocol droid stood silently, watching the interchange. Sentient beings were not easy to assess. He did not understand why they needed to find humor in situations. And calling this giant swamp of a location was the furthest from swimming lessons any being was going to get. It made no sense.

Luke was his master, but C-3P0 was sorry he lacked the finesse of a linguist. The Princess was a being who possessed excellent language skills, however, especially in Basic. It was as if her brain contained a thesaurus data bank. He recognized immediately why she was so good at negotiations. She not only knew the language, but could use it in a way to manipulate a being's emotions and reactions. She almost did not need him. He found it quite fascinating.

She only seemed to falter against Captain Solo, a human with whom he also had trouble communicating. The Captain treated words like he did mechanical repairs. He gave some dual purpose, bypassed others, had an innate understanding of phrases like he did the way circuits fired on a ship. Then there were the nicknames and sarcasm. The protocol droid was not versed in the figurative use of language, and that seemed the only way Captain Solo spoke to him. A most aggravating human.

And one who caused them to be on this rust-causing planet. "I am at a loss as to how Captain Solo's disappearance brought us to this water-infested planet," 3-P0 added, "but I think it wise if I remain on board."

"That's fine," Luke answered distractedly. At this point he didn't care what the droid did or didn't do.

They had tried several places to land, finding the water too deep or the earth too soft. Finally they had settled on the top of a canopy of trees. The Falcon's mass flattened everything in a heart beat, but Chewie explained it was the only way they would know there was firm terrain. Peering around the corner of the hatch to the outside, Luke could see the landing thrusters holding steady now.

Chewie and Luke brought the packs to dry ground and started to unpack.

"How do you think we'll find Yoda?" Luke asked.

Chewie stood, scanning the forest and swamp. "I think he will find us. We will wait."

"What if we landed on the wrong side of the planet?" Luke suggested. "He could take weeks to reach us."

"Do you not think your Force guided us to make the landing we did? Chewie asked.

"I didn't think of that," Luke said, feeling a little ashamed. He cursed himself for not being open to the Force. He straightened, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply several times. The presence of life was astounding. He thought fleetingly that he'd like to visit Tatooine once more, get a Force sense of it. It had never had much to offer when he was younger. Now he was interested to see how different it felt.

"Hey," he muttered, eyes still closed. Chewie quieted, waiting. The whole planet was alive; Luke saw the Force everywhere, in each leaf and drop of water, rippling in feathers and scales and hairs. It shimmered and hovered, connected to itself in paths he could follow from leaf to stem to trunk to ground to root to water; but an object, full of Force, was moving. It sent waves of Force outward and Luke took a step backward as the waves pushed on him. "There's something-" he started to say but Chewie was laughing at him. He opened his eyes.

At Luke's feet stood a being. Crouched barely taller than his kneecaps, green like the rest of the planet, wrinkled and fibrous with nails like giant thorns on its feet.

"Something I am," the little being declared with a hoot of laughter. "Ah, Chewbacca, so heartened again am I to see you." He and Chewie were trying to greet each other physically. Chewie seemed absolutely delighted and wanted to scoop the little green creature up in his arms and squash him with affection but was deterred when it grabbed his wrists and brought them together in a squeeze.

"Yoda?" Luke asked. He squatted down to get to eye level. "I'm Luke Skywalker. Ben Kenobi sent me." If this being was going to laugh at him like Leia had when he entered her detention cell Luke swore he would just go home and forget everything.

"Obi-Wan," Yoda said. He had forgotten that his old colleague had changed his name. "A good friend was he."

"Yes," Luke responded, meaning it. "He said you would train me in the ways of the Force." He squinted at Yoda suspiciously. "Do you expect me?"

"Yes, yes," the being repeated. "Expect you I do. Train we will. Meet your friend I must," Yoda's singsong made Luke's had bob and he had to think a moment.

"Leia? You want to meet Leia? She's still on the ship."

Yoda nodded. "First, Chewbacca and I together will walk. Much to discuss have we."

Chewie scooped Yoda up onto his shoulder. He called back to Luke to set the camp up and disappeared into the mist of the swamp.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Ah, Chewbacca," Yoda said. The giant Wookiee had immediately set for the trees and climbed. He now straddled a large branch and faced Yoda expectantly. He thought how the years in isolation had not been good for Yoda. He was stiff, hunched, detached. Not quite beaten, but close.

"Much time has passed," Yoda added wearily.

"And pines have given way to oaks," Chewie contributed.

Yoda had no trouble understanding the poetry of the Wookiees. "Yes, much also has changed." He prodded Chewie on the leg with his walking stick. "Struggled, have you. Sorry I am, for what happened."

Chewie had helped Yoda escape Kashyyyk when the Emperor declared the Jedi purge. That delay had cost him his own freedom, as the Imperials took the planet and rounded up the Wookiees into slavery.

Chewie nodded. He told Yoda about being captured, about his enslavement, and his rescue by Han Solo.

Yoda listened attentively. Chewie's account was guileless and blame free. Though both were long-lived species, Yoda was centuries older. He envied the Wookiee's perception, or lack thereof. Sometimes the Force was as much a curse as it was a blessing.

"Much frustration in you yet," he commented as Chewie finished.

"My Life's Work has withered," Chewie answered gravely.

"And mine crumbled," Yoda assented. Vividly he saw the burning spires of the Jedi temple, felt his heart constrict tightly again at all the losses. "Much have we invested."

"You mean gambled," Chewie returned. "I have been waiting for my Life's Work to show himself, as he did to me. I have been patient with him. I was certain the path that intersected us with Kenobi and young Skywalker was the right one, that he would help rebuild the Jedi order. But he is lost."

"Lost, he is not to all," Yoda said. "Correct you are. Closely twined with Luke and the Alderaanian Princess his destiny is. Others will seek to sever it."

Chewie absorbed Yoda's information. He waited for more, certain Yoda knew, but the former general lapsed into silence.

"What do you know of him?" he prompted.

Yoda shook himself out of his reverie. "Speak of him now we will not," he determined.

"He is my Life's Work," Chewie said quietly. "He is a human, but he is better than others I know."

Chewie held humans with little regard. They were dangerous, self-centered, violent and brilliant. They scattered themselves across the galaxy and left their lasting impact in beautiful cities that left little regard for other life forms. Han was the embodiment of all that was human, the good with the bad. But he had been a bit better. He at least saw value in another's life.

"I would not be be here but for him," he told Yoda. "I have brought you the boy, but I must return to my Life's Work."

Yoda considered Chewie, who had the uncomfortable feeling he was being probed. Then Yoda nodded. "So you will. First let us return to the boy. Assess what Kenobi taught him and begin his training."

"Kenobi only introduced Luke to the Force. Luke is adept at reading people, but he has no physical control of the Force."

"If anything like his father he is, control will he easily gain. Come Chewbacca," Yoda stood, tiny against the thick limbs of the tree, "it is time to return to your ship."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Luke stomped his boots of mud at the bottom of the Falcon's hatch. He had finished unloading the gear and the campsite was ready.

"I found Yoda," he told Leia. She was the communications console, very intent on something.

"Great," she told him, and looked around. "So where is he?"

"He and Chewie went to talk. Yoda said he wants to meet you."

Leia frowned. "Me? Why does he need to meet me?"

"I don't know," Luke shrugged. "Maybe he's just being polite."

Leia flinched a little, sensing an underlying dismissal from Luke.

"What are you doing there?" Luke asked. He was glad to see her eyes were full of purpose again.

"Using the encryptor. I'm trying to locate the fleet."

"Who are you contacting?"

"General Rieekan. If I don't hear from him soon, I'll have to try and find one of the cells that's off base in the Inner Rim. I don't want to. It's risky. Not just for us; but more so for them."

Luke nodded in understanding. He had learned a lot about espionage and subterfuge in the last few years.

"How long do you think we'll be here, Luke?" She tried to keep her tone noncommittal but knew she was sending the same signals to Luke as he had done to her. One that said 'my life is more important than yours'. She was immediately sorry, but didn't know how to take it back. To have competition rear its ugly head now, after all this time...something dark was working at them. Was it just Han's absence?

"I don't know," he murmured quietly, his blue eyes watching her guardedly. He sensed the shift in their relationship as well, tried to compensate for it. "It might be a while. You and Chewie can leave if you need to, and I'll contact you when I need a pick up."

Leia nodded. It was fine; they were fine. "No, I'll stay for a while. See what this is all about."

Luke nodded back, grateful.

C-3PO plodded from the cockpit. "Motion detectors are picking up life forms, Master Luke. I believe First Mate Chewbacca and this being you call Yoda have returned."

"Good," Luke answered.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The group gathered in the ship's galley. With the addition of Yoda there weren't as many places to sit, and Leia had perched herself on the counter Han used to prep food. She had seen him use it as a seat also, and remembered his body posture with a pang. Her imitation of him felt like a gesture of connection. It made her miss him terribly.

She was aware of resenting Yoda, and while the group talked was trying to understand why. It wasn't Luke. When she looked at Luke she just wanted to support him, encourage him, help him be all he could and was supposed to be. Yoda was to help him, and yet she snapped angrily whenever she directed conversation at him. Was it because she was identifying with Han right now? Or that she felt someone needed to represent him still? He would most likely be rolling his eyes if he were here now. Actually, now that she thought about it, there was no way any of them would be here if he were the pilot. He wouldn't have brought them.

"Train with us, you should as well," Yoda directed a comment at her. Leia straightened, wondering why she was offended. This was Luke's turf. "Me?" she said, her voice dripping skepticism. "How would I train?"

Luke sat up with interest. "Does Leia have the Force too?"

Yoda noted his eagerness for a partner to share. "In all beings is the Force. It is existence."

"So then," Luke's brow was furrowed as he tried to understand his first lesson with Yoda, "anyone can learn to use it, if they are trained? Could even someone like Han?"

"No," Yoda said shortly. "Not all beings are born even sensing the Force."

"I've never sensed the Force," Leia said.

"Ah," Yoda lifted his ears, "yet use it you have."

"When?" she dared.

"How many could face Vader and give him nothing?" Yoda shot back.

"That wasn't the Force," Leia retorted. "I was prepared to die. I was merely determined."

C-3P0, standing nearby, appreciated her adjective choice.

"Powerful with the Force is Vader. Into one's thoughts can he go. Helpless to stop it one is. Without the Force to prevent him."

Luke was intrigued. He looked at Leia. "Did he try? To… invade your mind?"

Leia shuddered. It was the most violating sensation she'd ever encountered. But she had mentally screamed at him and he got nothing. "He tried," she admitted slowly. "It was the most awful feeling. But I knew he was there. I just didn't let him in."

"And that is the Force," Yoda stated. "Use it you did. Use it now you are. A shield it is, for you."

Leia was shaking her head. "No."

"Protect you, it does," Yoda insisted. "Open your mind and heart and see you will."

"Train Luke," she said firmly. "That's why we're here."

"But Leia," Luke started, "if you're able to access it already, then why -"

"I'm not accessing it, Luke," she said acidly. "I have things to keep me busy while you train. Just do what you have to and worry about yourself."

Luke looked at Yoda, wounded. But he nodded quietly, determined to revisit the matter again, both with Leia and Yoda.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She and Han were piloting the Death Star through the space lanes of Coruscant. The cockpit looked just like the Millennium Falcon's.

Traffic was terrible. Speeders and cruisers passed them above and to the side but the Death Star seemed to be almost motionless. Leia looked out the cockpit window as the space station's sheer size seemed microns away from the city's buildings.

Han turned to her casually. "Crazy, huh?"

"Why is traffic so bad?" Leia wondered.

"It's us. We're too big. Clogging up the lanes." Han informed her.

"Or an accident?" Leia peered again out the window and into the traffic to detect the reason for the hold up.

"You're gonna be late for the Rebellion," Han told her.

She shook her head. "It's not mine, and it's started. I'm not late. I'm just not getting there when we need to."

"I can fire the guns," he offered. "Make everyone get out of our way."

"No, that wouldn't be fair."

"I know!" Han snapped his fingers. "I have another way we can get there."

He jumped out of his seat and she followed him into the Death Star corridors. They walked side by side freely, the hallways empty of all personnel. Their footsteps echoed on the shiny waxed floors.

He squatted at a trap door and heaved mightily. "Here, attach this to your belt loop."

Suddenly he was wearing the utility belt of a storm trooper's uniform. He tied himself to her waist and tossed the other end out the trap door. "Come on, Princess!" he called gleefully. He grabbed her by her middle and they dropped out the trap door.

Leia's screamed soundlessly as they rushed into open air. She was both exhilarated and terrified. Han was confident and sure, his eyes gleaming, his hair blowing off his face in the stiff wind of their free fall.

They passed a number of surprised speeder pilots and while they were falling they were also moving forward. They were speeding past all traffic and the way was clear.

Han's arm was sure around her and his vitality was electric. She looked into his eyes, eyes so knowing, and meant to give him a kiss like she had to Luke on the Death Star, a quick peck on the cheek for luck, when his own mouth caught hers.

They dropped through the air, locked in an embrace, her hands around his neck and in his hair, his arm snaked around her firmly to press her to him. Their fall whizzed the air past their faces and hair, and their clothing whipped around them while they kissed. He was was wild and alive and she clung to him, terrified he would let go. Forever they could fall, she thought; forever past the gawking faces of traffic; forever, if she could feel this terrified, this excited, this good.


	8. Chapter 8

With Luke's training begun, each member of the Dagobah landing party formed their own routine as the days wore on.

C-3P0 remained always on board, monitoring the ship, radar outside, and completing tasks Chewie or Leia set.

Chewie spent a great deal of time outdoors. He rather liked the planet. It was a bit too damp for his tastes; he found his fur tended to smell musty and he had to use the sonic shower often, but overall there was much to remind him of his home world. The trees were much smaller and thinner than what he knew on his home planet, and yet he couldn't resist the opportunity to experience the raw nature that was similar to Kashyyyk.

Since attaching himself to Han with the Life Debt, Chewie had only visited Kashyyyk three times. He was not begrudging Han this. He knew he was lucky to be able to see his trees, tribe and family again at all. But the kinds of places Han traveled to seldom evoked the majesty of the trees.

Han liked to get out once they landed somewhere. Long hours in hyperspace and youth in need of movement often found them checking out the sights and sounds of a port city. Han had a curiosity about places they traveled to. But he tended to stick to the space port, enjoying the air, the sights, but also the chance to indulge himself. He would tire of Dagobah quickly, Chewie decided.

Yoda did not forbid Chewie's need to hunt, either, agreeing it would not cause an imbalance with the Force on Dagobah. So Chewie wove nets out of vines for traps. He dug pits, carved spears and took on the role of provider. His innovations brought fish, birds and game back to the ship and he carefully prepared carcasses for meals. If he would say so himself, the little group was eating quite well.

There were moments when he wanted to turn to his partner and gloat about a shot, discuss with him the stars above and name the constellations. There were moments when he missed Han keenly.

He felt himself at a crossroads.

He should be looking for Han. He should at least find out what happened to him. If there was the slightest chance his partner was alive then it was Chewie's honor and responsibility to help him. He should not be here, idling away the hours in the trees, waiting for Luke and Leia to determine their own paths. He was failing Han. And that was a great dishonor to the Debt. But if his partner were dead -

It was hard to imagine.

Chewie stood on the banks of the swamp, watching the murky water. His arm was upraised with his pointed stick. There were fish in the waters in great numbers, and Chewie only had to let them get close. There was no need to aim. Just thrust the spear in and, if timed right, a fish was impaled.

If Han were dead, then it meant he was free of the Life Debt. He could go home.

Chewie had spent twenty years as a slave. The memories of a life discarded still brought a heat to his face. Stripped of free will, of pride, of sense of self. The reason he was here now, on the banks of a swamp hunting fish, was because Han Solo had ripped the Wookiees from Imperial bondage. Whatever Han's motivations, whether he was sincerely an enemy of slavery, or because he arrogantly wanted to blacken the eye of the Empire, Chewie was here. Was he free though?

Chewie brought his arm swiftly down into the water, a smooth, forceful entrance that made little splash, and brought it up to inspect the fish wriggling at the other end. It was too small, but Chewie removed it from the spear and placed it in the bucket of swamp water at his feet, intoning his thanks to it with a gentle rumble. Prey won in the hunt was a gift; a Wookiee never disparaged the offering.

If he was free of the Life Debt, would he transfer it? Would he serve the Rebel Alliance?

Waiting for the school of fish to swim back closer to the shoreline, Chewie made a decision. He needed find out what happened to Han. If Han were dead, he would transfer it. He would serve Princess Leia. He grunted with satisfaction. It was a good decision; he felt Han would approve. It caught two fish with one spear: honor Han, because Han felt strongly about Leia, and fight with the Rebellion for justice.

Yoda's voice drifted toward him and he turned to watch as Luke ran by. He growled a greeting and waved his fish triumphantly. Luke waved and smiled.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Luke spent the bulk of his time with Yoda. He was at first surprised that such a large emphasis of his training was placed on the physical. Yoda had him run, climb and learn to swim, sometimes accompanying him by riding on Luke's back; other times he set Luke a trail and waited for him at the end.

But after the first few days when the exhaustion began to wear off and Luke's body grew stronger, he saw how much stronger in the Force he was for it. He had a theory it was tied to the endorphins released from physical exertion. His body was strong, his stamina endless. His mind was opened as he ran through shallow waters and jungle growth.

He thrived on the exercise, loved hearing the dull thud of his foot falls on the soft peat soil. His breathing was heavy but he was never out of breath. Two steps, breathe in; two steps, breathe out.

All sorts of ideas and thoughts and memories came to him as he ran. The reasons for the downfall of the Republic, the gentle love of his Aunt Beru, plotting battle formations the Empire wouldn't expect from a squad of X-wings, Leia's distrust of the Force and the fate of Han Solo.

Luke also spent many hours absolutely still, in a clearing or on a rock or high in a tree. There Yoda directed and sculpted his thoughts with the Force. Yoda affirmed the Force was passive, merely a witness as life passed in and around and through it.

Luke would be absolutely still, lifting objects, hearing Yoda describe the Force, and he would see himself, and Leia, and Han, bound together by the Force. Luke saw how undeniably the Force flowed in and out of beings, connecting them, binding them, forging histories and futures.

He disagreed with Yoda.

He was adept enough now to talk and hold objects in the air at the same time.

"Was there ever a philosophy class at the Temple?" he asked Yoda.

"Why ever ask such a question, do you?" Yoda asked, puzzled.

"I'm just thinking, if Jedi sat around and debated about the Force, if there were differing opinions of it."

"Oh?" Yoda's ears moved forward. "Have an opinion, do you?"

"Did they though?"

"Mm, yes. Shape one's thoughts experiences do."

"Right." Luke nodded. "I think that, too."

"So tell me, your experiences shaped you how?"

"Well," Luke gently lowered the stump back to the ground and opened his eyes to face Yoda. "When I look back to when I was on the Death Star, I can see the Force at work."

Yoda sketched the protocol droid in the dirt with his walking stick while he waited for Luke to continue. It was proving very interesting, having such an older student. Challenging.

"There was a moment when Han – the pilot Ben hired – ran off and Leia and I got separated from him." Luke paused a moment to allow a ghost of a smile, remembering the crazy action of Han screaming after storm troopers. "We were all trying to get back to his ship, this one actually, that brought us here, and we had no idea where we were, where it was, or how to get to it or back to Han."

"But we did," he continued. "The three of us bumped into each other again, and we could see the ship, one level down."

Yoda looked at him expectantly.

"And now that I know how to access the Force, I can see it, Master Yoda. It's part of my memory now. This invisible…..presence, suggesting to us which way to go. Like a…," Luke struggled vainly to describe it, and found his language skills sorely lacking. He didn't think his protocol droid could do much better. He needed more of a poet. "Like a guide animal, you know? For the blind. I see it swirling around him and us, bringing us back together."

"The Force serves no one," Yoda argued. "It would not point the way. Find it yourself, you did."

"Alright, it didn't really point the way. But it had connected me with Han, and it was just showing me where he was. Maybe not to say 'Escape is This Way' with a big arrow," Luke held his hands out in an exaggerated gesture of signal, "but just acknowledging that I knew and it knew Han's life force. And how to get back to it. But it is helpful," Luke insisted. "It was there the whole time, and you only had to be sensitive to it to know how to use it."

Yoda was silent.

"I didn't know at the time that I was using it, but I was. And Leia must have too." Luke had a feeling his master was defensive, as if his teachings were being attacked. "I'm sorry, Master Yoda. I don't mean to discount you. But, I just don't see the Force as passive, as something we pass through. I think it passes through us."

He decided to change the subject. "Is Leia Force-sensitive, Master Yoda?"

Yoda plunked his stick into the ground forcefully. "If her I am to discuss with you, not behind her back will I," he said. "Run the forest trail. Done for the day are we." He turned his back on Luke. "Spoken well have you today."

Luke felt pride. He closed his eyes and saw the Force drift everywhere out of Yoda, connecting him to Luke, to Chewie spearing fish at the swamp's edge, to the ship and all around. He began to run. Two steps, breathe in. Two steps, breathe out. He ran and cast his mind out, wondering if the tendrils of Force moved from the ship to the captain's seat, to Han's history on it to outer space, to wherever his friend was.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Leia rose mornings and hacked the vines away from the ship. This was the most fertile place she had ever seen. Somehow during the night a vine would gain enough growth to wind it's way up the sides of the Falcon. If Master Yoda weren't teaching Luke the ways of the Force here she would find the planet sinister.

It was important to her to maintain the ship. Repairs were caught up; as Luke had commented during their trip Han had certainly had the ship in good running condition, and the Falcon seemed to be recovered from the spell of breakdowns she experienced when they left the space port where Han had disappeared.

To Leia, the breakdowns were not arbitrary but an expression of grief and pain. How a mechanical object would come to behave so was beyond her comprehension, but she believed it anyway. She identified with the ship, sympathized with her, and felt in her a kindred spirit. Han loved his ship, and she undertook the care of his prized possession for him.

They had been gone a while. He had not been with them now for some time, and gradually their lives found a new routine that did not include him. The first cargo space was now used to clean and gut carcasses. 3-P0's place was now in the cockpit, where he monitored the sensors and shut down or recharged. Luke had moved out, to stay outside in the clearing and let the Force have ready access to him in the open air.

Leia had sent her encrypted messages and now waited for an answer, if one was ever to come. She considered asking Chewie to take her out of the atmosphere, accusing the planet of making communications inaccessible, just like the vines were trying to prevent flight.

While she waited she drifted. She walked with Chewie and sat with Luke, wondering what he saw when his breathing was so deep his chest didn't even move. Mostly she stayed on the ship, cleaning, inventorying, organizing. There were times when she found little snippets of Han. Sometimes she smiled fondly, such as when she came across a note in the food bay, scrawled in loose handwriting, no punctuation or thought to grammar. This is mine Chewie dont you dare eat it

There weren't enough snippets. She read through the ship's logs, she alphabetized the ship's manuals, she saw he collected gem stones and extra reserve brandies, but she suspected these were for resale. There was little that indicated who Han Solo was. What he wore, where he went, what he used to maintain his ship, sure. She already knew that. Now that he was gone, she wished for much more.

He continued to appear in her dreams. Luke thought she was sleeping better on Dagobah because she was forced to relax, and she wouldn't dare admit how she looked forward to the night cycle and her visits with Han.

Mornings she would awake, marveling at the increasing sensuality of her dreams. This Han knew her, and he melted her with his eyes. He was tender. He was also fun and safe and in her dreams they always struck the Empire down in the smallest of steps together. She knew the Han of her dreams and the man she knew in reality, who liked to tease and provoke, were the same man. She saw it now, why she kept going back for more of his nonsense, because underneath that was a most beautiful person. She caught the merest glimpses and she wanted more. She also revealed more of herself to him in her dreams, and she was resolved, if she were to ever see him again, to carry that forward in real life.

Mornings found her subdued, caught between powerful attraction and grieving loss.

She rummaged now in Chewie's locker, stowing the awl he used to drill holes in the wood and fetch the machete she used on the vines when her forceful tugging loosened a stack of holos from their place.

The pictures were all of a certain place and Leia guessed it was Kashyyyk. They were of great trees, massive trunks that rose hundreds of meters into the sky. She passed through the holos quickly at first, taking in the details of the planet. The wooden walkways, the way the housing was organized. It was fascinating. She learned Wookiees stood or lay more often than simply sat. Chewie obviously had adapted quite a bit for his job as a freighter copilot.

She flicked through pictures a second time more slowly. Of Chewie posing with other Wookiees, noting the differences in their coloring, the amulets they wore around their necks. Chewie wore nothing now. She wondered if his Life Debt precluded that.

There were many holos of Chewie with another, obviously a cub. Chewie's son, she realized. It hit her how hard it must be for Chewie to be away all the time.

For a moment she appreciated Han's distaste of the Life Debt. Chewie had been freed, but once again he was not free, and no matter what Han said made no difference. Should Han have lived his life differently, because a Wookiee had sworn a Life Debt to him? Should he have brought the Wookiee back to Kashyyyk to stay, and have to stay himself?

She went through them a third time, more slowly still, marveling at the scenery and glimpses of culture, when her heart caught in her throat because there he was.

A slightly younger Han, scar-less and dark-eyed. Standing with Chewie's son on a thick branch that could hold four humans comfortably across its width, one foot raised to the trunk, his hands testing a vine, getting ready to launch himself off the branch. A candid shot obviously by Chewie, showing his partner immersed in Wookiee culture, enjoying the moment.

Chewie's wish, she thought.

She liked the picture. She liked Han's focus, his sense of exploration. This was a Han before he'd met her, a man so appealing even when he knew no thoughts of her, and while it caused a pang she thought also how true the image was to him.

How lonely Chewie must be. Then, and now.

Leia returned the holos to their place and brought out the machete. She gripped it firmly in her hand, now used to the feel of the rough handle that gave her such blisters when they first landed. She had callouses on her palms and she enjoyed how her triceps muscle flexed when she swung.

She stepped down the hatch, passing C-3P0, who offered no greeting for once, and blinked outside. She could see Chewie at the swamp's edge, spearing arm upraised. Fish again, she thought. It was bony, but the meat was flaky and actually quite tasty.

She glared at the plants. Yes, sure enough, they had crept forward again while she wasn't looking. She moved around to the other side of the hull, and met Yoda, sketching with his stick in the dirt.

"Oh, hello," she greeted politely. "Are you waiting for Luke?"

Yoda nodded. "Channeling, he is."

Leia nodded back. Luke had explained to her the purpose of the various exercises. It all seemed to be about opening one's mind to let the Force in and accept what it offered. Channeling was more specific to the body, causing a separation of cognition and the physical.

She hacked. "I can't believe how fast things grow on this planet," she commented. "It's like the vines want to cover the ship and never let us leave."

"Hold you until you are ready to leave, they will."

She straightened, absorbing his comment. "Are you saying the whole planet is in collusion with our being here?"

"Saying only the vines will release you when it is time."

Leia thought about it. The power of a star ship was much stronger than that of a vine, she mused. More like when it was time the Falcon would rip the vines away on lift off. But she made no comment on this.

"And what about you?" she asked. "Have they completely tethered you here?" It's been twenty years! her brain wanted to shout. Leia had had enough of the mystical wisdom of Yoda. Every night it was the same, while they ate together at the campsite. Chewie cooked over an open fire and it was easier to eat where the fire was than bring everything back inside the Falcon's galley. While Luke and Yoda talked, every opportunity a lesson, Leia looked at Yoda and thought, twenty years.

Yoda sighed. "Judge you should not. Have such anger, you should not. To immobility no stranger are you, either."

She bristled. "I don't know what you are talking about. I have always taken action. Always. As Senator, as princess, and now with the rebellion."

"Yet much like me you are. Clear head, clouded heart."

Chewie came into the clearing with his bucket of fish and set about starting a fire. He glanced curiously at Yoda and Leia but did not interrupt.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Leia demanded.

"Clear head," Yoda intoned. "Brilliant, no doubt. But clouded heart. Also brilliant. Frightened of your passion, you are."

"Of course my heart is clouded," Leia argued. "And my head clear. After what happened to Alderaan, after losing my family… everything….I know what needs to be done. I have never been so sure. And I am very passionate about that."

The fire flared with a whoosh as dried vines and twigs took to the flame. Leia and Yoda glared at each other.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Two steps, breathe in. Two steps, breathe out.

Luke ran, his feet thudding, in constant strength, while thoughts and images came unbidden into his mind.

Leia.

Leia and the Force.

She did use it, unconsciously. The knowledge was exciting. Ben had led him to believe he was the last of the Jedi. Obviously that wasn't true. Luke now realized that Ben meant a person to own a light saber and train in the Force to use it, like his father. The Jedi had merely been a Force-sensitive group of peace keepers. Yoda had described the Temple to him, and all the beings that came to live and train there.

The Force was in all beings.

So it made sense that Luke was not the only one. Now he'd met another, Leia. He thought of the others he'd encountered. Wedge, Rieekan, Mon Mothma, Han?

Mentally he shook his head. Two steps, breathe in. Two steps, breathe out. He didn't think so. But it would be interesting, to return to base and to watch the Force wind its way among the life forms, show him.

Like it had shown Kenobi to Han, Luke and Leia to Han. Two steps, breathe in. Two steps, breathe out. Did Han have the Force? No, Luke didn't think so. He saw it clearly now in Leia, knew that's why he'd felt such a connection to her. He cast his memory back to Han, and saw only the man and the Force that swirled around him. It was never manipulated by Han like Leia had manipulated it. But so much of their story seemed to lead to him.

He felt badly for Leia, almost a pity. Why was she afraid of the Force? What held her back from opening herself to it? It was the same with Han, she held back.

Luke stopped, sat down with his legs crossed. Master Yoda was waiting for him but something- no the Force – was telling him to stop experiencing the Force passively and start actively listening.

He closed his eyes. Breathe in, breathe out.

He saw sand. His sand. The sand that was a part of every facet of his early life. Grainy, loose, demanding and commanding. He watched as it took shape in his mind, blowing, drifting. There were huge dunes, rippled by the wind, hardened by time.

Hello, Tatooine, he thought. The sands of Tatooine visited him often when he meditated. He thought he understood why. It was where his life began, and ended, and began again. C-3PO, R2D2, Ben, Han. His aunt and uncle.

Relentlessly the sands blew in his mind as he sat quietly. The wind howled and the sand moved in a swirling roar, obscuring everything.

Storm, Luke realized. What am I supposed to take from this?

He waited, but nothing more was shown to him. A little disgruntled, he got up. Two steps, breathe in. Two steps breathe out.

He ran back to camp.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some non-graphic mentions of sexual abuse.

The door was wrenched open and four Gamorreans entered with a human. Maranya woke with a start, amazed she hadn't sensed their impending arrival sooner. She started screaming, begging them not to kill her, and began to run uselessly around the cavernous room.

The Gamorrean guards barely had to chase. They wore lamps on their heads, tiny beams of light that showed the dust of the sand floor dancing. They had each their own direction in which to catch her, and her chains slowed her down. The male human stayed near the door, apprehensive and wringing his hands.

Han was standing before he was entirely awake, trying to process the scene before him. The light from the head gear hypnotized him and it was a moment before he reacted.

"Hey," he shouted roughly. "Hey, leave her alone." He whirled the chain that was attached to the cuff on his wrist and slugged one of the pig guards, who squealed in pain and forgot the terrified human girl.

Han was delighted he had made contact. _Stupids_ , he thought. _I can't be the first Punished to use this as a weapon._ He knew it was a lost cause, but he was grimly satisfied anyway. The guard stalked at him, pike raised, and pulled out a coiled vibrowhip from his side.

_Shit_ , Han thought, and wondered how long he and Maranya could run around in circles trying to avoid the guards. If they weren't in such big trouble it might almost be comical. He backed up, keeping an eye on the other three guards as well as the man, and whipped his chain out low, by ankle joints.

Their odd dance continued for some moments. Han, distracted by the other guards and trying to use the feeble light of the lamps, was unable to connect again. A second guard joined his colleague and Han learned Gamorreans knew how to corral prey. He found he was backed up against the wall. He shrugged mentally, and lashed out with his own makeshift weapon again, when it was caught by the first Gamorrrean's vibrowhip.

Han was stunned into inaction when arcs of electricity coursed out the whip and latched onto his metal chain, numbing his throwing hand and causing the metal cuff to grow searingly hot. He gasped and backed off. _Who's stupid now_ , he reprimanded himself. The second guard was swinging the ax and it caught Han on his calf muscle, splitting the fabric of his boot. He made a gesture of capitulation so they would stop attacking him. Allowing himself to be wounded was a big mistake. The staff of the ax swung out again and caught him above the ear. Han went down hard, feeling the prickles of sand on his cheeks. He lay there panting and blinking, trying to regain himself.

They had the girl by now too. They forced her down on the sand and two of the guards each grabbed a foot, forcing her legs apart. The human examined her.

"Oh dear," he said in concern. "My dear, why didn't you -"

The guards set about beating her. The man moved out of the way, his body language betraying a helplessness. They only used the wooden staffs of the axes but Han knew it was vicious enough by the way his own head felt.

Then the sorrowful human was crouched by him. He gingerly moved the hair above Han's ear. "You'll learn in time not to react," he said in Basic.

"What'd she do?" Han asked thickly. He tried to grab a fistful of sand but his hands wouldn't work. They tingled mercilessly.

"There was no seed," the human said. He read Han's expression of confusion. "No sign of sexual intercourse," he elaborated slowly, as if Han were a child. "Wherever she is, that is what she is to do."

"That's what -" Han sputtered. "No. It was me. She tried. Leave her alone." He struggled to get up but another blow across his shoulder blades pressed him back into the sand. "It was me -"

"It doesn't matter," the man said with regret. "It is the rules."

Han moved his head through the sand to look at Maranya. She was barely conscious, held to stand on her feet by the Gamorreans. Her head rolled from side to side and bloody spittle drooled from her mouth.

"Where will she be tonight?" Han demanded. "Is she going to have to sex someone?"

"Hmm." The man pursed his lips. "Jabba usually has them sent below."

"The rancor," Han guessed. He closed his eyes in angry bitterness. He'd never wondered before how the rancor's meals were selected.

"But Maranya is a palace favorite. Jabba knows this. I expect she will be with me." He stood suddenly, surprised that the Punished looked like he was about to strike him. "I am the palace medic," he explained. "If she's in no condition to sex tonight she will spend the night resting. If she is spared the rancor." He glanced at Han's leg. Blood was oozing out of the broken leather.

"If you are lucky you will be brought to me as well. Perhaps Jabba will decide to let you live. If not, we will let it go until it is severe, and then when you face the rancor it will be over quickly."

"If, if, if," Han mocked. "You ain't much of a medic, pal," he said with scorn. "I know," the medic sympathized. "But I am given little to work with." He left the room with Maranya being dragged away by the guards. The door shut heavily behind them, and Han was left with the darkness and the gentle rustling of sand against the walls outside.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was three days before Han was brought water and food. He was settling into the belief that Jabba was just going to end him. The wrist under his cuff that conducted electricity was burned and terribly sore. His leg also was very painful. They obviously did not care about his condition and he would not be visiting the medic.

The lack of mental stimulation in the utter darkness was taking its toll and it was difficult to not focus on his injuries. His sensation of touch, however, was giving him more and more information the more time he spent in blackness. He dragged himself through the sand, resting the leg. His nose told him the location of his piss hole, which he carefully maintained by dragging more sand over it.

Maranya was not returned to the cell but he found her wall when moving around, and he endeavored to gouge the marks for her. He used his chain. There was nothing else to do. That, and sleep and think.

He wondered about Chewie. Had his partner not realized Han had come to Tatooine? Maybe not. Han had been putting it off for so long Chewie might think Han would run forever. He wished now he had kept running. No, that wasn't true. What he wished is that his past would never catch up with him, but if wishes were tangil donks….

He had to set his past to rights. Others were starting to pay for his arrogance and irresponsibility.

_Happy, pal? I did what you always wanted. I grew up_.

It would be nice if somehow someone knew he was finally owning up to himself. Maybe he'd carve a note in his own section of the wall. _Dear Leia,_

_I was here, paying Jabba back, and I think he killed me._

_Love, Han_

Maybe Chewie would figure it out. Come and rescue him before it was too late. But Han didn't think that was a good idea, even now, as desperate as he was. Jabba was mad, teaching him a lesson, and sure as tangil donks don't fly, he'd kill Chewie.

_Stay away, pal. It don't matter._

Water and a hunk of hard bread came on the third day, in a grimy wooden bucket that seeped moisture out its cracks. The slimy feel of the wood indicated an alga growth.

_Huh. Luke would find that interesting_.

The water in the bucket smelled of sulphur and tasted foul, but he dunked the bread in it gratefully and drank some.

On the fifth day they came for him. By now his pants were loose, his leg was on fire, and the sand in the growth of his beard itched.

He was brought to a kind of holding room. He limped in and looked at the others standing around morosely, no one making eye contact. He squinted, relieved to be able to see.

There were eight others. A Rodian, who reminded him of Greedo and made him scowl, two Twi-leks and five humans. They appeared to be Punisheds too. A Whipid guard moved them roughly into a square and linked the leg and arm chains of each Punished with the cuffs of the Punished in front and to the side. They formed three lines of three. The Whipid pushed one of the humans forward and the others began to shuffle forward. Han did, too, because his chain tightened with the movements of the one in front of him and he wanted to remain upright.

They walked somewhat slowly, squeezing ranks closer as they maneuvered through the narrow tunnel.

Han's eyes were watering but he stared at the yellowed sand walls blackened with torch fire and age. He observed the way the grains of sand were displaced by his boots like they were alive, and the filthy appearance of his shacklemates. It had been a long time since he could _see_.

He thought maybe they were the Procession, and was tense to see Jabba again so soon, but they emerged out a hatch in the bedrock at the rear of the palace. Han turned to get a better look, thinking it would be good to know how to exit when he escaped. The Whipid cuffed him roughly about the head and he veered into his human neighbor, who careened into the Twi'lek, who fell.

The Whipid began to strike all the Punisheds until the Twi'lek was back on his feet. It was all done almost soundlessly; just the thwack of blows against bodies, grunts of exertion. The Whipid moved without emotion and the Punisheds made no expression. Then they all shuffled forward some more around the side of the palace until they came another opening in the bed rock. Han saw a wide expanse. A droid moved aside to allow them entrance. Ahead loomed Jabba's great sail barge and several skiffs, as well as speeders, still and coated with a fine layer of sand.

_So this is where they're housed_ , Han thought curiously. Jabba had a huge operation and even as an invited guest Han had wondered how it was all managed.

_Should be easy to hot wire one of these_.

The nine Punished were positioned aboard, in the center of the skiff while the Whipid and Gamorrean crew stood under the awnings in shade.

Han's adrenalin coursed faster in his body as he wondered why they were being loaded on the skiff. How do you punish the Punished by taking them on a skiff? Drop them in the Sarlacc Pit? Sell them to slave buyers in town? Leave them in the desert? He shook himself when he realized he actually thought of his cell as a sanctuary.

_Get a grip. They're just trying to scare us._

_Dear Leia_

_Apparently I'm going on a field trip._

_Don't worry, I'll be back soon._

_Love, Han_

The skiff began to move, laboriously at first but then gaining momentum. It exited the hangar and the brightness of the twin sunlight was as blinding as the total darkness he'd been immersed in the past five days. It was difficult to keep his eyes open and he kept his face downward. The sun beat down on the square of nine Punished and their bodies swayed along with the movements of the skiff.

With his eyes closed the sensation of flight returned with a clarity Han had taken for granted. He lifted his face to the sky, relishing the breeze in his hair, the warm wind on his cheeks. The air howled past his ears and he didn't mind the tiny grains of sand that pelleted his face.

_Dear Leia,_

_No matter what happens to me I enjoyed the skiff ride._

_Make sure to tell Jabba that before you kill him._

_Love, Han_

Why had he not realized how far a trip it was from the space port? He usually docked the Falcon hidden in a canyon favored by smugglers when he visited Jabba. A skiff was sent out to meet him and bring him to the palace, but from the canyons it was never a long ride. Han lifted his head. Where were the canyons? He squinted his eyes, his salty tears making them sting. When he turned his head east, his mouth opened with longing. There they were, narrow and foreboding. But inviting. Huh. Who'd have thought.

_Dear Luke,_

_I never saw it before but your fucking planet is beautiful_

_Love, Han_

Mos Eisley beckoned. The Whipid corralled the Punisheds into their square and gave a shove, signaling them all to move forward.

They walked, is all they did. Han reflected this was just another level of Jabba's cruelty that he hadn't known about. Parade the Punisheds through town, humiliate them. Show them to the populace. Have them be a warning to anyone who did business with Jabba: Step wrong and step in shackles.

Han did his best to keep the weight off his injured leg but his good one was growing quickly fatigued with the slow pace and the extra work it was doing. He longed for the breeze on the skiff.

The Whipid went into a cantina, thank the Maker not one Han used to frequent, because meeting someone he knew would cause more humiliation than he thought he could endure- and he had endured a lot-, and tethered the nine Punished to a post reserved for Dewbacks.

It went on, until finally the suns were low in the sky and no one was out in the streets anymore. The group shuffled back to the skiff and they rode under a black sky speckled silver. The nine Punished edged closer to each other for warmth and Han kept his eyes to the sky, drinking in the starlight.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He was in his cell, shivering on his back in his bed of sand, when the door cracked open and he saw a shaft of light before it was quickly extinguished. He groaned. Maranya found him and slipped next to him, pressing into him as she had previously.

Her cold hands touched his forehead. "You are warm," she said.

"So are you," he said.

"No, yours is sickness."

"Maybe."

"Do you still have plans of escaping?"

"Yeah." _Had a nice tour today_.

"Then you must stay strong."

"How are you," he asked dully.

He felt her raise her head."What?" she asked.

"They beat you." He brushed her jaw with his fingers.

"Oh. Yes." No one ever commented on slave treatment, and she was momentarily confused. "PM 7 kept me two days."

"PM 7?"

"Palace Medic."

"What's the 7 stand for?"

"He's the seventh."

"Oh." It didn't really answer Han's question but he decided he was too tired to care. "Are you...did they send you in here?"

She didn't answer as quickly. "Yes," she breathed into his neck.

"And, if I don't, it'll be like before? They'll beat you?"

"More. I am fodder listed. It is the rules. They must find seed."

"Fodder listed?"

"The rancor."

Han sighed miserably. "Maranya..."

"I know. It is how it is done. You see, don't you? It is you, or me. But always, it is both."

Han understood. He could let it go, let them find nothing in her, let her get beaten, get her killed, and her death would be on him. Not Jabba. Han was the one who broke the rules. Or he could go along with the rules and lose himself. He had to hand it to Jabba. The complexity of his cruelty bordered on genius.

_I'll hand it to you, Jabba. You win this round. But I am going to blow your fucking brains all over your throne before I escape_.

"Will you help me?" Maranya asked.He felt her hands on him again. "They are sure to kill me the next time I fail."

He couldn't speak, closed his eyes tightly and lost a salty tear.

_Dear Leia_

_I_

_I can't_

_I do love you._

His body responded. He didn't want it to. Wanted his erection to wither and excuse him her death that at least he tried. But he responded and she mounted him, moving in a practiced way until at the end he threw his head back, eyes clenched, never touching her, thrusting violently in release, his yell _damn you, Jabba_ echoing around the cavernous walls.


	10. Chapter 10

From the safety of her dream she watched him put a finger to his lips, and with exaggerated care he stepped out into the corridor just behind Darth Vader. Storm troopers were behind him, but they did not alert Vader to his presence. Han strolled nonchalantly for a few steps and then scooted forward in small, quick steps, very close to Darth Vader. He stepped his boot out, clamping something underneath his sole. The troopers continued to file past, directing the blank stare of their helmets at his boot and what he was stepping on.

Leia fidgeted from her hiding space, straining to see what he was doing. Finally space opened up. Han stood, unworried and sure, his hands on his hips. Leia stared at the retreating back of Darth Vader, wondering what Han was up to, when she saw it.

Vader's cape was unraveling.

A teeny satin thread streamed from Vader's back along the corridor, stopping at Han's boot. He met her gaze and winked conspiratorially and Vader stomped away, the little thread merrily calling itself to Han's boot.

He shifted his weight, and the black line sprung out from under his sole and trailed after Darth Vader. Han made a comical face, an exaggerated 'uh-oh' of surprise, and dashed to give it chase. Leia joined him, her hand on his forearm, alarmed he would give them away. Han stooped to gather the thread. He wound it over his fingers, round and round, until it formed a small skein. Then he slipped it off his fingers and continued to roll it in a ball. Again he took slow nonchalant steps, following Vader, who never seemed to notice that his cape was growing inches shorter by the moment.

Leia walked alongside him in the corridor, giggling with mirth. Vader looked so silly. Han took care not to cause much tension on the thread so Vader never noticed the pair.

Eventually Han decided they had enough yarn and he yanked at the string between his hands, breaking it.

"Come on, your Highness," he whispered in her ear. He opened a door and they sneaked inside, where it was close, dark, and warm. A single bulb from the ceiling lit the pair.

"Vader unraveled," she giggled, feeling so good. She wasn't certain why, but it was a decisive blow against the Empire. She and Han were invincible, untouchable. It was a wonderful feeling. She looked up at him, so much taller than she, and such a part of her victory.

She held her hands up and Han began to wind the satin thread in a pattern over her fingers and around her palms. When his fingers came near to touching hers she stroked his with her thumbs. He was focused on his weaving, his lips slightly pursed, eyes deep green and intense.

 _Kiss me_ , she said silently.

The thread was soft and silken, heavenly against her skin.

"Who knew Vader was so delicate, eh?" Han commented, now weaving the filaments in her hair.

The touch of his fingers in her hair….she bent her head forward, allowing him this closeness. She waited, standing closer to him. She wanted him to read her mind. _Kiss me_ , she implored. _Please, just kiss me now._

She felt warm and heated, the hypnotic effect of his hands moving in her hair causing her to deepen her breathing.

"There." Han's voice was as silken as the thread he wove through her braids. "Now you have a bit of Vader in you. You're beautiful."

"Han," she breathed into his chest. She put her hand up, and the lighting showed how much darker his complexion was against the white of her own skin. She felt his answering heat underneath her fingertips, the firmness of his sternum under warm smooth skin. "Han," she breathed again. "I want to kiss you."

He answered with a wordless gesture, his hands moving down the back of her head to her neck and shoulders. She sighed into him, mouth open, her desire telling. They stayed like that, breathing, kissing, tasting, until the height difference caused her neck to strain. As if feeling her discomfort he picked her up and she wrapped her legs around him and she held on for dear life, her hands moving through his hair and over his shoulders very much like he had done for her while he used his lips to explore her face and neck.

Noises came from outside the door. They broke apart and she told his eyes, "I'm supposed to be fighting."

"You are," he said and was going to kiss her again but the door opened and Luke Skywalker said, "Come on you two! The garbage masher is this way!"

"Leia?" Luke called from outside her cabin door. He knocked again. "Are you in there? We're getting a transmission."

She woke, panting and flushed. "What?!" She bolted off the bunk, dashing for the door, and the dream dissipated like steam hitting cooler air.

Luke's eyes were frank and assessing and friendly, not at all like Han's. "I said, a transmission's coming in. 3-PO came and got me."

Leia felt disoriented, trying to shake off her dream. Her first thought was why the droid hadn't roused her first. "Is it from home base?"

"I don't know. It's encrypted, though. Chewie says it could be a contact, wanting to hire. 3PO says it's going to take a few hours to decode it."

She nodded, not at all surprised by the information. "Is there kaf?"

"Yeah, there's a pot on the fire. Come on out and sit. There's actually some sunshine," Luke told her.

Sunshine was a fleeting experience on this planet and Luke was taking it as an omen. The sunshine, the message…things were starting to happen. There was a shift, and he felt his training would take a new direction very soon.

He regarded Leia sidelong as she poured a cup of kaf and squatted to take a seat on a stump Chewie had dragged up for the campsite. He wondered if she sensed it too, but she'd kept her thoughts close to herself since they'd arrived.

He felt a distance between them. _Maybe I'm guilty too_ , he reflected. He knew the inaction made her feel powerless and the open-ended question of Han's fate still bothered her. She didn't seem to want to let him go. She asked Chewie about Han often, things she had read in the logs, or about things she found during inventories.

Luke was sure Han was alive, and he told her as much, but he had little else to offer her. He was sure Han was alive, because Han always was. Luke struggled to understand her grief, because she had never allowed her feelings for the smuggler to show before.

In the three years since Luke met Han, the smuggler had often left, and they'd have no news of him. It was a conversation he and Leia had a number of times, the probability Han would be killed or captured, but it hadn't seemed to bother her much. Maybe it was because at least she'd had gotten to bid him farewell. Or maybe because it was something she refused to acknowledge, deep down. Intellectually she could discuss it, because the probability any one of them could be killed or captured was high. Maybe it wouldn't be real to her until it was real.

What was real to her, though? Luke thought about Leia on the Death Star. She had been slated for execution. And she had told him since then, since Alderaan's destruction, that she was dead inside. Maybe, symbolically, she had been executed. And so killed or captured might just mean being like Leia. Dead inside.

The thought broke his heart. He was determined to reach her.

 _Experiences shape one's view of the Force_. His conversation with Yoda drifted back to him. Leia's experiences were vastly different than his. A life in the public eye, no shields. _Except the Force_ , Luke clarified. Living in peacetime, preparing for war. Then internment.

"Leia," he said. "How long were you a prisoner on the Death Star?"

She turned to him, surprised and discomfited. "What? Why do you want to know that?"

Luke shrugged. "I don't really know. I just never asked before."

"Well, it didn't really matter, did it. Since you were the one who released me."

"Yeah." He smiled at her. "Best thing I ever did."

She smiled back. "Best thing that ever happened to me, too." Leia sobered. "I'm not sure. Not long. Something like three days."

"Not long. But long enough, right?"

"Mmm." Leia's eyes were clouded. "I underwent interrogation with the mind probe, with Vader attending. Then Tarkin, briefly. They were just waiting for the paper work to go through before execution.

"What was it like? I mean," Luke hastened to speak after she set wild eyes on him, "were you left alone? Or did they do other stuff, stuff to … to break you down?"

"Stuff."Leia looked at her hands. In three years she had stopped thinking about it. Covered it, like a bandage. "Why, Luke?"

"Do something with me, will you? Before this all breaks up?"

"Breaks up? What do you mean?"

"The transmission. If it's from home base, you'll want to go, won't you?"

"Well, yes, of course. But, Luke, you're here too… I'm not going to -"

"Things are changing, Leia. I can sense it. Sit with me. Just this once, sit with me and the Force. Together."

Leia squirmed and looked into the ashes of Chewie's morning fire. "I don't know, Luke..."

He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. "I do, Leia. I do," he repeated reassuringly. "There's nothing to be afraid of. You use the Force to know people. It's your beauty. And you use it to protect you. It's not going to let you down."

 _Your beauty_. He had never talked to her like that before. Leia was aware, from Han's teasing, that Luke thought he'd fallen in love with her the moment he saw her in R2D2's holomessage. But as they came to know each other, his love manifested itself in just knowing her, just having the grace to call her one of his best friends. He loved her, wholly and completely, but he was not in love with her.

"It'll be OK," he confirmed.

He was so earnest, so young, so untouched. And yet he had changed so much. "Alright," Leia yielded.

Happily he jumped to his feet. "Great! Come on, I know just the place."

She took his outreached hand. "Are we going channeling?"

"We'll go for a walk."

They moved together past the banks of the swamp, deeper into the growth where it was greener and darker. Luke was no longer in the mood for conversation, so she contented herself with following him, enjoying the speckling dots of sunshine on leaves and patches of earth.

He brought her to a knoll. Maybe it had once been a rock outcropping, eroded by rain, sifted over with compost, grown soft and velvety with moss. It was a lovely spot.

"This is one of my favorite places," Luke said, echoing her thoughts. "Let's just lie down," he said. She took his example and stretched out beside him. He grabbed her hand, gave it a squeeze. "Close your eyes, Leia, and take big inhales, and just see where your mind takes you."

She lay there, trying not to feel silly. Luke was sometimes so serious. He held her hand, and his breathing was deep and even. Under her, Leia felt the cool moss and the undulations of the knoll in her back. She directed her gaze at the sky, feeling the sun on her face, warming her from within, and she watched the trees stretch to the sky and sway in the wind.

She thought of trees. Giant majesties like on Kashyyyk, spindly sun-starved ones here on Dagobah, the woody texture of the ones she climbed at home on Alderaan, Han with hands on a vine, ready to swing off a limb.

Han.

Floating with her in a free fall, adventurous, inspired, his hands and lips caressing her skin, throwing her bombs and weaving Vader's fiber in her hair.

Free fall….. _you're beautiful_ ….love. His eyes, the gesture of sacrifice, _your beauty_. Luke's loyalty, solitude….she frowned. Luke. There was sand, and like Chewie's holochess board there were players. C-3P0 had the rear center spot, and he was rooted and motionless, while she and Luke, Chewie and Yoda approached their opponents: Darth Vader, bounty hunters, a large green being in the opposite center spot, the Emperor.

Han… whose side was he on? He was close to the opponent's edge, a square away, challenging the center spot.

She opened her mouth to warn him and he sent a warning of his own with his eyes.

Sand, whirling and roaring, funneling into a cloud, obscuring all. Sunshine, suns…..unbearable heat of wood under her feet, fading. Life. _Life._ Love.

Feelings floated over her. Some strong, others weak, some conflicting. Love and tenderness, hatred and isolation. Faces swam before her along with the emotions. Luke and Han and Chewie and Yoda. She couldn't separate an emotion with a face; everyone seemed to have them all.

Beside her, Luke was awed by Leia. Her free association of friends and what she connected to them was beautiful. He linked into her Force, feeling his own double its power, taking him, showing him.

There was Tatooine again, the howling sand. Show me, he urged the Force. It sailed him along the desert plains. Past his uncle's moisture farm, through Ben Kenobi's house, through the canyons he used to race in, back out to the endless expanse of sand. A skiff, bodies, or people, or both; he couldn't tell. Loud determination, fistfuls of sand, fierceness, desperation, desolation, longing. _Longing_.

He gasped. He knew.

He bolted upright, found Leia's shocked eyes, knew she had seen it too. "I know where he is," he shouted. "I have to tell Chewie!"

Leia followed him as best she could, watching his back as he disappeared into the jungle. She wasn't sure she knew the way back but she was sure she wouldn't lose Luke.

He was a part of her, somehow.

She had the feeling she'd just undergone a life-transforming event, and was reeling, dazed. There was a new dimension to her consciousness. She saw things broader, bigger, wholly. The vines, the jungle, specks of sunshine and little Dagobah occupying its spot in the galaxy.

Luke had shared the Force with her.

No, that wasn't right. She saw, now that he had disappeared from her sight, that the Force was still with her, companionably. Gentle and trustworthy.

Yoda had insisted it was there, that it had been all along, that she had used it.

 _Your beauty_.

The Force told her how lonely Chewie was, how worthy Han was, how pure Luke was. And Yoda even… Yoda's heartache.

 _What do I do with this_ , she wondered. She could see the others so clearly, but when it came to her own heart, she had trouble clarifying her feelings. _Clear head, cloudy heart_ Yoda had told her. But that had been before, only moments ago. Everything had changed now. While she walked, smelling the campfire, she let the Force help her clear her heart.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Luke's footfalls thudded through the jungle. He ran as fast as he could, his arm flailing against branches, and felt like his stride was beyond his control. When he broke into the clearing where Chewie and Yoda sat talking quietly, he was completely out of breath.

Leia heard Chewie's questioning growl. Luke's voice carried as if he were standing right next to her. "Han's on Tatooine." She finally caught up with him and stood next to him in support as he panted, "I know it. I saw it. He went to Tatooine."


	11. Chapter 11

Chewie picked up a stump the others used as seat and hurled it into the woods. He roared unintelligibly and picked up a second stump. It crashed through the greenery near the other. There was a fluttering, and a flock of winged lizards took the air, startled.

Luke's mouth dropped open a little. He had never seen Chewie in full rage before, and the sight was frightening. He had not expected his news to get this reaction. He was glad the stumps were not hurled at him.

Chewie continued throwing, kicking, pacing, roaring. Luke understood curses but not much else. He and Leia shouted at Chewie, trying to get him to calm down, asking him what was the matter. Yoda merely sat with his eyes closed, shaking his head.

C-3P0 ventured down the hatchway and into the clearing. "Master Luke, thank goodness you are alright. I heard a terrible commotion -" The golden droid stopped and took in the force of Chewbacca's temper.

"Goodness! Has the Wookiee been stung? Should I bring out medical supplies, Master Luke?"

"No," Luke put a steadying arm on his droid. "It's OK. I just told him I know where Han is. It upset him, for some reason."

"You have learned the whereabouts of Captain Solo?" C-3PO's mechanical intonation was surprised. "I do not understand how you came across that information, Master Luke. The _Falcon_ has not yet finished with the transmission, and the Maker knows there is no outside contact on this seaweed covered planet." The droid paused, as Luke didn't seem to be inclined to tell him just how he had obtained the information. "That is good news, however, Master Luke. I cannot see why that would upset First Mate Chewbacca. One would think he would be pleased."

"You'd think so," Luke agreed. "What's he saying? I thought I was doing well with the language, but he's talking too fast or something. I'm just getting a little. Curses, mainly."

"I am glad to be of help, Master Luke. It is not often I am able to use the six million forms of communication in my data banks. First Mate Chewbacca is invoking the gods in an ancient form of Shyriiwook. Wookiees smoke an herb, pray to the gods and do extreme physical exertion to work themselves into a frenzy before battle."

"Battle? Really?" Luke frowned. "I just told him Han is on Tatooine. I wonder what that means to him."

Leia joined Luke in the conversation. "I think it means he's going to kill Han."

"He is also shouting," C-3PO continued, "and I do beg your pardon for his foul language, even though I shall do my best to clean it up a bit, 'damn my Life's Work to hell, it is a dishonor.'" The droid paused. "Yes, I believe that is an adequate translation."

Luke exchanged glances with Leia. By now Chewie had completely dismantled the camp. Yoda was now chasing the smoldering logs of the campfire, ensuring that the jungle would not go up in flames.

"Chewie!" Luke was still hesitant to approach the raging Wookiee, but he stood in front of him and waved his arms. "Chewie, calm down! Calm down! Talk to us, Chewie. Why are you so upset?"

Distantly, Chewie was aware of everyone watching him. Threepio was wrong; it wasn't full Wookiee battle mode that he was indulging in but rather a culmination of weeks spent waiting and wondering and worrying come to a head.

Chewie was at first stunned by the news. Here, so far away, in green moist jungle, completely isolated from the rest of the galaxy for weeks, and Luke comes running into camp, jubilantly announcing Han's whereabouts on the dry, hot sands of Tatooine. If they hadn't been here with Yoda training Luke in the ways of the Force, Chewie would have laughed.

But he felt sure Luke was right. Han was on Tatooine. Luke was close enough to Han that their friendship must have leaked into Luke's meditations.

So it meant Han's disappearance had been deliberate. Chewie felt a crushing, saddening, disappointment. It dropped to the pit of his stomach and discouragement weighed him to inaction as he tried to assimilate this information.

His partner – _partner_ \- had thought to undertake something without him. Kept his thoughts and plans a secret; didn't want his partner along. Thought he didn't need his partner along.

And Chewie's anger flared. _The damned human_! Han was the one who insisted Chewie be his partner. And Han had been more than fair. Gave Chewie half the proceeds, paid for the _Falcon_ out of his own earnings and wouldn't accept anything from Chewie. Said it was his ship, and he was captain.

Chewie saw it for what it was now, and he raged, cursing Han and trashing the campsite. Obviously partner held a different meaning to Han.

It had always been so much more to Chewie than partnership. He had sworn a Life Debt. Han had earned it. He had given Chewie back his life. Someone, anyone, who had demonstrated that kind of courage, risked not only his own freedom but his life, deserved the honor of a Life Debt. The other Wookiees of his tribe had agreed with Chewie's assessment, too, when he visited with Han his first time back.

Han apparently did not value, or did not understand, the concepts of partner and Life Debt. The idiot, Chewie railed. _When I get my hands on him…._

Had it all been fun for Han? Had he freed the Wookiees from slavery on a whim? Had he no regard for life, others, even his own? Was his life that empty?

Chewie stopped, his nostrils flaring. A picture of Han loomed in his mind's eye. Loose, irreverent, unencumbered.

 _Partner_. Han had no attachments. His glib use of the word partner suited Han when he wanted it to.

Chewie had made an attachment. He had sworn to protect the one man in the galaxy who didn't want protection; didn't think he needed protection. _Idiot_! Chewie kicked the campfire in and hurled the coffee pot into the swamp water, where it bubbled before it slipped beneath the surface.

Chewie had spent twenty years in shackles. Wookiees had been the Empire's baggage, beaten when they didn't function properly, discarded when they stopped. It still made his blood boil, how the Empire had stolen from him the very meaning of his existence. The Empire was born from a complete contempt of other life, and its rise to power was something Chewie regarded with horror. And for some reason the gods let it continue. It had shaken the fundamental core of his being.

No. Chewie would not accept it. Han's gesture could not have been empty.

Chewie stilled himself, looking down at Luke waving his arms frantically. No, if there was one thing he was meant to do in this life, it was to show that damned man that life could not be lived empty. He had lived like that once, and it was intolerable.

He nodded at Luke. "It is passed," he told him.

Luke was looking at him uncertainly. "Oh, okay," he said, his brows up.

"This was not good news for me," Chewie said.

"I gathered that," Luke said wryly. "Why isn't it good news?"

Chewie shook his head. "It does not matter."

"But, Chewie," Leia approached them and hesitantly put her hand on his forearm, "you know where he is now. You'll be able to find him." She paled suddenly. "Unless, Tatooine is bad news because you think he's …. that he's…."

"He's not dead," Luke asserted. "I felt him. He's not …," Luke stopped, closing his eyes and once again sensing the longing, "he's not in a good place, but he's not dead, at least."

"Why on earth would Captain Solo wish to visit Tatooine?" C-3PO asked.

"He went to settle his debt with Jabba the Hutt," Chewie said.

Leia's eyes widened. "The money! Is it still here on board?"

The repayment hadn't entered Chewie's mind. The Princess was always so sharp. Deep in his heart he knew as Han did that the repayment would never be enough. _Damn that human all to hells_! "It probably is."

They moved toward the Falcon. Luke and Chewie went to check the holds and Leia steered the droid into the tech station.

"Threepio, how did Han get away from us? Can you go back to the planetary records the day he disappeared"

"Of course, Mistress Leia."

"The money is here," Luke reported disconsolately as he came back from the holds. "He didn't take it."

"Why wouldn't he take it?" Leia mused. "If you're going to settle a debt, you need to pay it. Did Han expect to offer another IOU? He's not that stupid."

"Mistress Leia, I have found something," C-3P0 announced. "Planetary records report a stolen freighter from the space port. The first such incident on that planet." He looked up from the computer terminal. "It figures Captain Solo would be the first to bring crime to such a pleasant place."

"Threepio, remember, you commented on it," Luke said. "You said you couldn't get through the docking bays for all the commotion, some crime."

"Oh yes, Master Luke, I do recall! Strange to think Captain Solo was the reason behind it. And he slipped away right from under us."

"Yeah," Luke agreed. He looked up at Chewie. "He planned this, didn't he?"

Chewie nodded.

"Why the hells didn't he say something to us?" Luke felt angry now. The joy that his friend had been located was now shifting to a resentment. "We could have helped him."

"You did, last time," Chewie said. "You got shot, remember, getting him away from the bounty hunter." Chewie stopped. The motivation behind Han's action was becoming clear. "He turned himself in," Chewie realized aloud. _Alright, maybe there was hope for his Life's Work after all._ He nodded to himself. "He didn't wish for you to be in danger on his account."

"Oh, so now he goes all noble on us!" Luke said sarcastically, throwing up his hands. He looked at Leia. "Only three years it took him."

She smiled back at him. In a way, it was a nice frustration.

They heard a clopping sound, and Master Yoda appeared, his walking stick tapping the durosteel as he stepped. "A development you have had, eh? Discuss this we must, together."

Luke nodded. "We will, Master Yoda, but first we have to figure out what we're going to do." He made a gesture to include himself, Leia and Chewie.

"That is what I wish to discuss."

"We're talking about a friend of ours," Leia said patiently, even though Yoda was intruding on their conversation. "One who should be here. Luke just learned he left us on purpose to do something, but he might be in trouble."

She turned back to Chewie. "Is it possible he's on planet but hasn't made contact with Jabba the Hutt yet?"

Chewie shook his head. "I doubt it."

"Why didn't he take the money?" Leia cried in exasperation. "All that talk of how he was in it for the money. Why wouldn't he at least offer it to Jabba?"

"The bounty is a death mark now," Chewie said. "No money would stop Jabba from killing Han."

Leia was horrified. "Then why did he go?" She looked at Luke. "Why do you think he's alive? It's been so long." Crestfallen, she looked at her hands. "He's probably dead."

"Alive, he is," Yoda put in, but everybody ignored him.

"I'm sure he's alive," Luke was looking at Chewie. "Jabba would want to make an example of him, wouldn't he? When I was a kid, we would see ones Jabba made a show of, when we went to market. Beings in chains. I remember stories my uncle used to tell about the Hutts. He said to get involved with them was to sell your soul." Luke found he was moving from joy to resentment to anxiety. "Did Han sell his soul, Chewie?"

"I think he finally got a soul."

"Lead you to Vader your friend will," Yoda stated. Leia, Luke, Chewie and even Threepio turned to stare at Yoda.

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Leia snapped.

"Oh dear," the droid remarked. "I said as much, Master Lu -"

"Shut up, Threepio!" Luke snarled. "Master Yoda, there's no way Han would approach Vader, or anyone else in the Empire, for that matter. He went to the Hutt because he owed him money. And the Empire doesn't have much to do with the Hutts."

"Mistaken you are."

"Yoda's right," Chewie said. "At least about the Empire and Hutts. The Hutt control space lanes in the Outer Rim. The Imperial Moffs pay the Hutts to be able to fly securely. And the allow the Hutts to attack other ships."

"Still. The Empire would kill Han just as soon as Jabba. Faster, if he's not to be made an example of." Luke shook his head in disbelief. "No, Han isn't with the Empire."

Chewie looked at Luke and Leia imploringly. "I must go. I must save him from himself. Again."

Luke nodded slowly. "Let's make a plan."

Chewie and Yoda spoke at the same time: "Not go, you must!"

"Wookiees do not plan. I cry for battle."

"See, I think that's why Han went alone." Luke's eyes flicked from Chewie to Yoda, trying to keep track of two conversations at once. "If Han left to keep me from getting shot again, then he definitely left without you to keep you safe, too, Chewie."

Leia nodded in agreement. "It's obvious, Chewie. And maybe a part of him wanted you to come, but he made sure some time would pass before you acted, so you'd go in safely."

Chewie paced, anger once again rising. "They why didn't he insist on a plan with me? I might have listened."

"Would you have? Really?" Leia asked.

"He is captain," Chewie relented. "I might have."

Luke and Leia smiled. She looked at Luke. "So are we going, too?"

Luke nodded, rubbing at his lips. "I think Chewie is going to need help."

"No, no, no!" Yoda slammed his walking stick on the floor to emphasize his point. "Go you must not. Speak with Chewbacca I must. To your quarters, go! Both of you!"

Leia crossed her arms. "You can't order us about!"

Luke said with mild reproach, "Master Yoda, please don't treat us like children."

"When like children you act, so you are treated," Yoda snapped. He lifted his stick and pointed it twice to the rear of the ship. "To your quarters. Now. Later will we speak."

"I will go ready the ship," Chewie announced.

"No!" Yoda practically shouted. "Wait you must. Chewbacca, hear me out you must."

Luke tossed Leia a resigned glance. "Come on," he said to her.

Leia eyed Yoda suspiciously. "I'll go check on that encryption, then."

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Luke took himself to his quarters. He sat down on the floor. He wondered at Yoda's insistence they remain on Dagobah. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply. _What are you afraid of?_

The swamp beckoned him, hinting at things hidden beneath the surface. He saw Yoda. Alone, and very lonely. Sketching in the soil. Rudimentary shapes. Luke recognized the Jedi Temple, C-3PO, felt Yoda's self-recrimination. _Exile,_ Luke breathed. _What are you sorry for_? His master was full of blame and shame.

Was this about Vader? Luke let his mind drift, saw the sands of Tatooine blowing. There was a shadow on the sand, a dark silhouette against the suns. A boy walking; no, a man walking. _That's me, I think_. Luke followed the shadow. The steps were sure, as if the path were familiar. Luke didn't recognize it. The place belonged to the man. _So it's not me_. The man continued walking and Luke joined him, side by side. They walked along the line of condenser units and Luke knew where he was. _This is my uncle's farm. Where are we going_?

The man's steps navigated the desert surely and swiftly, and what should have taken hours to reach on foot took no time at all. They stopped in front of Ben Kenobi's house and the man stopped. Emotions radiated off of him like the heat of the twin suns: sadness, anger, loss. Luke looked from Ben's house to the shadow on the sand. _You're Anakin Skywalker, aren't you? You're my father._

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Chewie was outside securing the ship, shedding the remnants of their camping lifestyle. He gave the support shafts an affectionate rub, and rumbled at the ship _we're going to get him_.

Yoda remained inside. He sensed Chewie's resolution at the turn of events and he could not fault the Wookiee.

He felt it within the ship, an imbalance in the Force, created by the missing captain. They needed to be whole again, all of them, and so they would go to Tatooine, no matter the cost.

Change was imminent. Yoda nodded to himself. Luke was in his quarters, on his way to self-discovery, and Yoda could not stop the path his meditations led him to. Destiny was upon him, upon them all.

Yoda waited. Luke would want to discuss his vision. In a way, the boy was so different than his father. So open. He'd had the love of an aunt much like his father had the love of a mother. But Luke found family wherever he was while his father never belonged to anyone again. Luke was never lonely. Afraid, yes; who wasn't? But he could confess his fear and not feel weak.

Yoda felt nudged by the Force. _Yes, afraid I am_ , he told it. _A long time have I been. And that a weakness, it was. Taught me, the boy has._

Quiet footfalls padded in the corridor. Questioning blue eyes found Yoda through hair grown too long. "Tell me what Tatooine has to do with all this," Luke said.

Yoda sighed. _A difficult conversation this would be_. "Told you I did. Lead you to Vader your friend will."

"But why would Vader bother to go to an Outer Rim place like Tatooine?" Luke interrupted. "If Jabba surrenders Han he can have him brought to Coruscant."

"More to Vader than you know." Yoda closed his eyes. "Ready you must be, for Vader."

Luke closed his eyes. "I've been seeing Tatooine ever since I met you. When I finally saw Han there, I thought maybe that was why. But now I'm back to my earlier thoughts, that it was where all the important events in my life took shape." There was a gentle touch around his shoulders and when he opened his eyes Leia was sitting next to him. "Tell me about my father."

A gentle voice drifted into the room and Luke heard Ben say, "The time for secrets is past, Yoda."

"Ben!" Luke cried.

Leia looked around. Chewie had rejoined them and they exchanged questioning glances. "Ben?" she said.

"Open yourself,"Luke told her. He pointed near the droid. "Ben's Force spirit. It's what I saw that night, in my sleep."

Leia gasped. When she looked, physically, with her eyes, there was nothing to see. But out of her mind's eye was a presence, that of a gentle, sad older man.

"Secrets?" Luke returned to Ben. He looked at Yoda. "What secrets? Is there something I'm not sensing?"

Yoda sighed heavily. "Not so sure, am I, Obi-Wan," he said.

"Oh, but I am," Ben answered with a small smile. "Death has a way of changing one's perspective. The urgency and intensity of life, motivations and emotions. Reduced to a shrug."

"What secrets?" Luke demanded again.

"Luke," Obi-Wan began with a quick glance at Yoda, "I told you Vader had learned of your identity. That he is after you. It is not because you are the pilot that destroyed the Death Star, most wanted of the Rebellion. It is because of your Force abilities. It is because your name is Luke Skywalker."

Luke was shaking his head rapidly in little movements, his mouth open. He spread his fingers out. "So he knows my name."

"Your father's name was Anakin Skywalker."

"I know."

"And you father grew up on Tatooine."

"Well, that's no surprise. Is it?" Luke had very little information about his father. His uncle and aunt were always very close-mouthed about him. Luke sensed a wary anger from his uncle, from his aunt a sadness. "I wound up on Tatooine in his brother's house."

"Half brother," Ben corrected.

"Two babies hidden from Vader there were," Yoda asserted. "The babies of Anakin Skywalker."

"So my father was an enemy of Darth Vader?" Luke turned to Ben. "You told me Vader killed my father."

Ben nodded ironically. "In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Anakin feared,"Yoda answered simply. "Loneliness, and death, he feared. Fell under the influence of Palpatine, he did."

"Wait." Luke held up a palm. "You're talking about two different things."

"Are we, Luke?" Ben prodded. "Search your feelings."

"The Emperor?" Luke questioned. "What could the Emperor offer the him that the Force couldn't?"

"The Dark Side, he offered."Fed by fear, it is. A Sith Lord is Palpatine."

"So… so you're saying… you're saying Anakin embraced the dark side? My father? But what's this got to do with Darth Vader?"

Even as he spoke Luke was coming gradually to comprehension. Gradually and reluctantly, steered with hesitant truth by his mentors. _They are afraid_ , he realized. _For me, of me_.

"What-" he frowned. "Vader is my – we're – Anakin -" Luke felt wide-eyed and crazy, repulsed and nauseous. He dared not look at Leia.

"Process it," Yoda warned.

"I – I can't," Luke stammered. This was the worst news he'd ever received. It nullified everything he knew to be true about himself. That his father was a hero, that he was the son of a hero, that his father was a great and powerful Jedi, that Luke would be, too.

"Do not let it change how you think of yourself," Ben cautioned, reading his thoughts.

Luke swatted the air in front of him, trying to remove Ben. "Darth Vader murdered my father."

"No."

"You told me that!" Luke shouted. "Don't deny it, Ben," Luke said harshly. "You said as much."

"Yes, I did. And I did not lie. Anakin Skywalker was of the light. He took the darkness, became Vader. Your father serves the dark now. What was Anakin, is gone."

"He is in bondage?" Chewie asked, interested. Ben nodded. "That soul was sold."

"But a bondage it is, that cannot be removed," Yoda counseled. "Freed you, your friend did, Chewbacca. Free Vader, his children cannot."

"Does he know I'm his son? Is that why he's looking for me?" Luke was so intent on his parentage that he completely missed the reference to 'children'.

Ben nodded. "Yes, and this is very dangerous for you, Luke. Vader, under the control of the Emperor, may try and turn you."

"And why finish your training you must," Yoda insisted. "Not ready to face Vader alone are you."

"Wait a minute," Leia said. "What do you mean by 'alone'?" She was just formulating the knowledge that Luke Skywalker was the son of Darth Vader, and trying to understand how that monster of a being, barely human, had managed to reproduce. And that Luke, one of the loveliest people she had ever had the good fortune to meet, had sprung out of one of the worst.

"Train will you? Become a Jedi?" "Me?"

Leia thought about it. _Your beauty_ Luke said, had been in how she read others, how she helped them. "I feel the Force," she began slowly. "I'm willing to learn more about it. But," she glanced apologetically at Luke, "I'm … I don't want the ways of the Jedi. I'm not a warrior. I don't want a light saber."

"Then alone is he."

"But he's not," Leia insisted. "There's you." She leaned forward pointedly. "What about you, Master Yoda.?" Venomously she spat out, "It's been twenty years! You have been sitting, idly, passively by, while the galaxy goes to Hell! Why? Fears have you?" she mocked rudely.

Yoda was unperturbed. "Away from Palpatine I stayed. Waiting I was."

"Well, now is the time to act! You're sending Luke out there, you won't even help him?"

"Help him here I do. Here, my place is."

"No." Leia rejected his argument forcibly. "The Force brought him here, yes. But now it is time to leave, and now it is time for you to leave. We are going to Tatooine. If our friend leads us to Vader, as you insist, then you will be along to fight with Luke. You will not treat him as a pawn in your game. You will help Luke bring the galaxy back to the light."

"Show him the dark side, Vader will."

"I won't turn," Luke said.

"He won't," Leia agreed. "Luke is the most whole person I know."

Luke looked at her gratefully, but Yoda objected. "Much longing in him, there is. For a father."

"Heritage isn't everything, Leia protested. "He can find a father figure in anyone." She squeezed Luke's arm reassuringly. "Luke never knew his father. Anakin. And Vader is most certainly not a father figure. Luke thinks of you as much, General Kenobi."

Luke had fallen to his own thoughts. He nodded absently, listening to Leia argue with Ben and Yoda. It was true; he did long for his father, always had.

Maybe Vader longed for his son.


	12. Chapter 12

_Sand… what do I know about sand?_

Han groggily got his bearings. The darkness. The sand. Someone by his legs. He was in his cell. Her cell. Their cell. Whatever.

"Guess I'm done with the Arena for the day," he muttered.

Maranya tugged at the cuff of his boot. She made no comment.

"Don't take it off," Han ordered. "I'll never get it on again."

She lifted the pants leg and vigorously rubbed fistfuls of sand on his cut.

Han tried to stop himself from rising in protest and shove her away. _Sand_..."Ow," he groaned. _Yeah, sand. Wookiees make an abrasive with it. Spread sap on bark and use it to glue sand and rub it on their carvings to smooth the wood. Chewie's made some really nice carvings. Got some on the Falcon. Storage locker… I don't remember. Somewhere. I don't remember. Back there, where there's the cold weather gear… fourteen. Storage locker 14. Shit._

"No fodder list, remember?" Maranya said. The pustule at the site of his wound burst and he gave a loud groan of relief. Maranya wrapped his chain around his calf and tightened, squeezing his leg and helping to drain the infection of pus and blood.

"No fodder list,"Han agreed in a pant. _Luke's always talking about sand. This sand._ He grabbed some in his fist, let it leak out. His leg ached and throbbed but the pressure was broken and he felt a little better. Maranya scooped out the sand from under his leg and packed it as tightly as she could around, forcing weight on it and keeping the cut drained.

_Let's see. He told me about some kind of lizard, lives in the sand. Told me how to tell when a storm comes. Something about the smell. In drift season he went sledding. Sand people. The rut a land speeder makes over the sand. Womp rats. He's pretty chatty, ain't he. Oh gods, no._

Maranya finished her ministrations to his leg and moved her body up to straddle over his hips. Very matter-of-factually she prepared to sex him. His condition was beginning to deteriorate, physically, and he wouldn't be awake much longer. She needed to have his seed to show in the morning when they came to check her.

Han felt her hands on him again, drawing him hard. He groaned again, stifling the urge to throw her off him.

He was always ready quickly, damn her, and she slid down on him, wriggling her body until he was all the way inside.

 _Damn. Think about something else. Something else. Sand….. Leia has that necklace. Ancient Alderaani time piece. Shit. And… and the sand leaks out…._ Han grabbed at the sand again. His hips bucked involuntarily and Maranya matched his movement. Their shackles shifted together, and he found he had kicked his leg out of its sand cast.

 _The sand leaks out_ _and_

Maranya lifted her body from his and settled at his side. She wasn't even breathing hard. The job was done, she could sleep. Han lay in the same position, panting. _The sand leaks out. I think mine is._

She had told him she was put in here with him. But he learned this was her cell, this was where they let her sleep when they let her finish sexing for the night. It was him that was brought to her, really. Part of his punishment, but part of hers, too. She must have done something, to warrant having one last job in her own cell, but she never spoke of it.

They let her in at different times of night, fresh from parties and smelling like sex and smoke and spice. Always at night, when it was really cold. This was where she was to get any sleep but there was always that one last job. Him. They always came to check her in the morning. Make sure that the seed they found in her matched his.

She was sucking the life out of him, little by little.

He hated her.

He blamed her as much as he blamed Jabba. That she was so accepting of the culture. Never thought to challenge it. He hated her for it. Hated that he was the reason she was alive. They never touched, and he was always on his back in the sand. He still had no idea what she looked like, other than the feel of her matted hair and skeletal frame when they slept close together for warmth. This was not love. This was not even sex. He didn't quite know what to call it.

Maranya went about it mutely. There wasn't much to her at all. No joy, no hope, no spark. She came in, she sexed, she slept.

He thought about her sometimes when his leg kept him up during the cold nights. Six years, she had told him. What the hell kept her going this long? He'd already had a few moments of weakness, when he thought, _if my leg kills me, it'll be done_.

She feared, he knew that. Once Han was barely aware of her. He'd mouthed off and gotten a beating and then the Rodian in the square of nine collapsed dead in Mos Eisley and they all got another beating, like it was their fault, and he'd been returned to the cell in bad shape. His leg was infected and he had a fever. He gained consciousness with her on top of him, desperate, and he opened his eyes in the darkness and was aware she was making a noise. She was praying. And crying. She didn't want to die.

Why wouldn't she want to die? Just get it over with, this misery. It's how she was going to die, anyway.

 _That's what this is, her and me,_ he realized. _Surviving. It's nothing but being sure to live another day._ She helped him with his leg because she needed him to survive. And he was helping her, letting her sex him so she wasn't sent to the rancor. Han filed it away, all the twisted humanity in this big, big room.

He still resented the hell out of her.

Han had to hand it to Jabba. The game was a lot harder to play than he'd thought.

Of course, that shouldn't have surprised him. Jabba always made sure the odds were stacked in his favor. A player might win a race, might sweep the Sabacc winnings to him, but in the end Jabba was always going to win.

The damned thing of it was, it had become a way of life. He would awaken, splayed out on the sand, and wonder, _will we walk in Mos Eisley today? Or do I get chained to the wall?_ Han had experienced life as a Punished in several different ways. There was the Mos Eisley Walk, the Arena, and the Wall, in the throne room. He had no doubt he would be introduced to others soon.

Maranya kept marking time but Han had lost all track. He knew he had changed from clean-shaven to stubbled to bearded, and his hair was becoming as matted as Maranya's.

They talked, sometimes. When he was in a more forgiving mood. When he remembered that no matter what he was determined to escape. He would quiz her on the layout of the palace, where the hangar was, where the kitchen was, how many exits there were.

She was a dull creature, bereft of deep thought and emotion, other than fear. He'd asked her of her earlier life, but she even had discarded most of her memories

. Her parents were moisture farmers. Her father had not been able to make payments on the note that Jabba the Hutt held so he had sold Maranya to cover it. She told him all this in a flat, unfeeling tone.

Han fought becoming like her, reduced to instincts, existing to live another day. He spent time in the sand, remembering. He felt his memories would keep him motivated.

There were crazy stories he could have told Maranya, if she were even interested, and she probably wasn't. The idea of uttering them aloud drained him and he held them to him, private.

He thought back to the day he rescued Chewie out of Imperial bondage. He never remembered the conscious decision to do it; he had just jumped in and it quickly escalated into a situation where it was too late to go back. He wouldn't exactly say he regretted it or that he was sorry he'd done it, but he sure as hell paid for it and nothing good came of it after that.

Except Chewie. There was no better partner, copilot, or friend he could have asked for.

That's what his time in the sand gave him. It taught him he knew he absolutely didn't regret it. _Thanks for helping me clarify that, Jabba_. And he knew why he'd done it. Something about the character, the look of defiance, the fire that burned in Chewie's eyes. Han hoped his own fire still burned. Maranya's had obviously gone out.

Something else he wasn't sure had been a good idea at the time, and that was going back for Luke. But, yeah. He'd been right then too. Luke knew Han was no good: a smuggler, con artist, coward. For some reason though the kid liked him. And it felt pretty good, being liked for who you were rather than what you put out.

Han kept alert for any outside news. There were always visitors to the throne room, seeking an audience, brokering deals, asking for forgiveness or for help. He strained his ears to listen while he was fighting in the Arena or hanging listlessly on the wall. It helped to pass the time and it reminded him of the life going on outside the palace walls.

He hoped Luke was having a good life. That he was staying out of trouble and bloodying some Imperial nose.

It seemed the Rebel Alliance was growing stronger. Pirate guilds came, complaining to Jabba that the Alliance had struck their dens in Hutt space and cleared them out. An Imperial Moff came too, asking the Hutt to increase security in Hutt space against the Rebels. Han thought that was funny, the Empire asking for help. He'd lapsed in maintaining his aura of defeat and had snorted audibly. Jabba had both him and the Imperial whipped together. Then the Imperial was sent back to his fleet and Han to his cell.

While he thought about Luke and Chewie he didn't really miss them. He just pictured them moving on with their life and that was enough for him.

But he missed Leia. Maybe it was because Maranya was there. It pissed him off so much because it wasn't Leia. He hated every erection Maranya coaxed out of him, hated her bony body on top of his, hated that she lacked the personality to fight, to make a difference or die trying. Leia's spirit was what kept him going, and when he got out, when Jabba was dead and he was free of the sand he was going to find her, take her in his arms, and thank her.

He still had the shackles and the darkness. Every day was a struggle to hold on to Leia and all she meant to him. He kept watch for an opportunity, but the stupidity of the Gamorreans and the cruelty of his treatment dulled his expectations and sometimes he wondered if an opportunity had presented itself and he'd failed to recognize it.

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Jabba the Hutt watched Han Solo on the wall through slitted eyes high on spice.

He'd had the Procession brought in and the members strung up on the wall, behind the feast. The fun was to pelt the Punished with bits of food and bottles and plates. Show the Punished that even good food could be wasted on them. The Punished usually hung with blinking eyes, heads sagging onto their chests. They tried their best to pretend they were anywhere but there, experiencing jeers, insults, humiliation. It was a quick game, because the Punished were really quite boring, but it was important nonetheless.

But Solo. Jabba noticed the feast patrons were focusing on him. Gathering around the spot where he was shackled to the wall, jabbering excitedly. Credits were exchanging hands. The feast patrons seemed to be, yes, they most certainly were, _interacting_ with him. Calling out. Encouraging him to open his mouth, moving closer, aiming carefully with the food gathered in their fists.

And Solo was _playing_. He was _tasting_. It was undeniable. Jabba watched as Solo's teeth scraped over his lower lip to take in some of the pulta berry pulp that had been splattered on to his face. The patrons cheered. Credits exchanged hands and Solo grinned just the tiniest bit.

Jabba was furious. A Punished was dictating the play of the game. Not just this game, but The Game.

Jabba roared, and the feast patrons froze. Jabba gave his signal of three fingers, and the Feast Patrons were surrounded by Gamorreans.

"The Sarlacc Pit," Jabba determined. "In six days' time. In the meantime you all shall suffer."

The chitters, squeals, wails and howls of despair and terror meant nothing to him. He was known for turning on his guests. "You all have abused my hospitality," he proclaimed. He turned his gaze on Solo, who now looked wary. "Get Solo down," he ordered. "Bring him here."

Solo was dragged by his elbows, hands tied behind his back, before the throne. "I tire of you, Solo" Jabba declared. The arrogant human's mouth opened to retort but Jabba's hand movement beat him. Pike staffs struck all over while guards kept him on his feet, hands behind his back. One Gamorrean jabbed him forcibly in the abdomen with the narrow end of the shaft of his pike and they let Solo drop to his knees, gagging and vomiting pulta berries.

Jabba was satisfied. "It is the rules," he stated. "Punished don't eat and Patrons do not feed."

"Finish him for the night," Jabba muttered. "But don't kill him yet. He can wait for the Pit with the others."

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Maranya was returned to the cell early. Apparently there had been a disruption at the feast and Jabba had turned on his guests. There weren't many to sex tonight. She would be brought to them on the eve of their execution, to offer hope with the pleasure, and then they would be killed.

She moved to her wall, finding it effortlessly in the dark, and marked her time with the chain. There was no other noise. "Solo?" she called. She crawled around, looking for him.

She gave a shrug and dismissed the thought of him. She would sleep now.

She had not quite given into sleep when the door opened and Solo was dropped in. From the shaft of light the open door let in she saw blood on his face and shirt, saw that he was unmoving.

"No!" she screamed at the guards before they shut the door. She felt near panic. "No! Get him out of here. He cannot be here like this."

The guards sneered and laughed. She grabbed Solo by his boots, started to try and drag him back out into the space beyond the room and they pushed her down and kicked her.

"He stays," they grunted.

"He is dead!" she shrieked. "Get him out. Get him out! He cannot stay here with me!" She tried again to drag Solo but they shoved her away once more. The guards indicated with grunts that he was still alive. She saw that he was, but he was deeply unconscious, his head lolling and his features slack. He would be for some time, surely past morning.

"I cannot sex him, not like this!" Maranya was near hysteria now. "Get him out. Kill him! Remove me!" She was on her rear, staring in horror at Solo and thinking nonononono when she felt the cool sand underneath her fingertips as she fought for control.

Six years had taught her something. Maranya stood, her whole demeanor changed. Slowly, she approached the guards.

She pressed against one, using her body. "I must show seed if someone shares a cell. Show yours, then. Just kill Solo. Tell Jabba he died."

They laughed, pushing her down again, and they left, shutting the door. They ignored Solo.

Maranya was stunned. They had ignored her; not made use of her.

Panic assailed her again. Maranya pounded on the door until her voice was hoarse, begging them to let her out, begging them to kill Solo, begging them for her life.

The only response was silence. Then she felt spent. She barely knew what help was and she never knew pity. All she knew was what her instincts told her. _Flee_. But they weren't opening the door.

 _Or fight_. She squatted next to Solo. She could kill him herself. She fingered her chain, thinking.

Would they know, those out there? Would they care if they came in the morning and he was dead? They probably wouldn't notice new wounds over the ones they'd already inflicted. Was it against the rules? It was the first time she considered her role as a sex slave and just how much responsibility was hers. If there was no seed in her, why was that her fault? Especially if she had tried. What about the other being?

Maranya looked distantly into the blackness. Guests were entitled to pleasure. And so even if they weren't able to perform; too drunk, too high; it wasn't regarded as their fault. And slaves were punished. That was the rules. They had brought Solo to her cell. No matter where she was, if there was another body she was to let is use her. That was the rules. She would be punished. But if he were dead…..

Experimentally she moved her chain under his head and brought it forward to wrap around his neck. He did not move. She could do it, she thought. There was enough chain. It would bring her face centimes away from his, but it shouldn't take long.

Then she would be alone. She wouldn't have to show seed. She hadn't his first morning, and been beaten. Had they punished Solo after his first night when he had refused sexing? She'd been beaten, she remembered it clearly, and rubbed her fingers over the jaw they had broken. He'd received the leg injury then. Was it for not sexing? Her memory of that morning was not clear. She knit her brows. The guards had come in, they gave a little light with their head lamps, and only two caught her because ….. two were beating…..no – two were _fighting_ , that was the difference. Yes, Solo had fought. She remembered now. Not because he hadn't sexed, but because he hadn't wanted to sex. They were not the same things at all. _Leave her alone,_ he'd called out.

Maranya took a deep breath. He had come to her defense. Her eyes moved rapidly back and forth as she tried to comprehend his actions. It had only been his first night, so he didn't know the rules. Still, no one had ever said that to her. _Leave her alone._ Not even her father, handing her off to Jabba's agents with sorrow and shame. Not enough shame, Maranya determined grimly. None like she'd been reduced to in the past six years.

In the paltry life of a sex slave in Jabba's palace, his utterance was momentous.

She had a sense of injustice, that she had done everything they asked and they merely laughed at her when they asked the impossible.

It was him or her. He might die in the night anyway. _Leave her alone_. She sighed. She hoped he died on his own. So she wouldn't have to show seed, and so she didn't have his life on her hands. Her life was on his, every night she came to the cell. She appreciated the position he was in.

So that was it. She might die in the morning, then.

"They are breaking the rules," she whispered to herself. "Why must I die when it is they who broke the rules?"

She settled beside Solo's body to wait for morning to come.


	13. Chapter 13

Luke whistled softly under his breath. He and Leia sat side by side, heads touching, on the _Falcon's_ gaming couch and read the report on the Battle of Hoth.

Leia wiped away a tear and Luke attempted to bolster her. "It could have been so much worse, Leia. One transport lost, and it was mainly equipment." He was putting on a brave front. The loss of two Rogue Squadron pilots in snow speeders was hitting him hard, too.

Leia had risked a comm call to Carlist Rieekan before Chewie took them into hyperspace. The general had been full of information and fairly cheerful as he had tried to assure her that the setback on Hoth was only that. The Alliance had taken back the space lanes in the Outer Rim, several worlds had pledged both financial, military and economical support, and, most importantly, the Alliance had a new base under the open protection of Sullust.

"I don't even have to encrypt the coords for the new base," he told her. "Just fly to Sullust and you'll see us. Right out in the open. It's great. Scaled back evac exercises by 50%."

He asked her about their absence and she hesitated to go into much detail. "Captain Solo has sidetracked us a bit," was all she offered. "We're going to Tatooine and then we'll be back."

"You'll have an easy trip. Proud to say Rogue Squadron has done a great job cleaning up Hutt space and all the pirates. Tell Commander Skywalker he should be proud."

Leia smiled. "I will."

"And we still await the supplies from your last mission – especially the medical. Never can have enough bacta."

"Of course." Leia had forgotten about the freight stowed in the holds so long ago

. "I'm just happy to hear from you, Leia," he'd said. "Glad to know you're alright. Give my regards to the crew."

"Will do, Carlist. You can't know how good it is to hear your voice. Organa out."

Leia had disconnected the call feeling very emotional. Her father's good friend was the same; still charged, still fighting. Somehow she felt left out.

The Alliance was continuing, growing even, and she had not had an active part in it for months. She'd left supplies in the hold and hadn't even thought to try and deliver them.

Did she matter?

Had she made a difference?

Luke's soft voice brought her back to the present. "The battle fleet is intact… High Council is safe. We owe the ground corps everything."

Leia nodded. "We do." She turned to him suddenly. "They've moved on. Without us. I feel…," she grappled for the word. "Guilty, I guess."

"Why?"

"They've made so much progress."

"Yeah, and that's great. Why do you feel guilty about that?"

"Because," she flipped her hand over. "We weren't there. We had nothing to do with it. We've gone off and been chasing ourselves. I've been selfish."

"Leia," Luke spoke her name to corral her thoughts. "No, Leia. We haven't been selfish. So it's not a Council-sanctioned mission. It's a mission nonetheless." He sought her eyes. "If what Yoda says about Vader and the Emperor is true, that they are Force-using Sith lords, the Alliance is going to need us, our new skills, to stop them. It's not selfish."

"Then it's a matter for the Force. Then it's just you and Yoda."

"And you. I know, you don't want to fight, but I think the Force isn't always about fighting. It's about balance. It's about everyone having an equal presence in the Force, about the Force being equally in everyone. Not just two."

Leia smiled gently. "A mystical democracy."

Luke was pleased. "Sure, why not? I like it." He sobered. "I know you're frightened." She started to protest but he held his hand up. "Let me finish. I know you're… alright, not frightened," he allowed, "changed. And change is scary -"

"You're not scared."

"- no. I'm not. But this is something I've wanted all my life. Without even knowing I wanted it." He smiled at her. "Change means discovering new things, opening up. Maybe some bad will come, but look back! There's already been bad, and you've gotten through it. We'll get through this too. Just…..I don't want you to forget you. You fight for all these beings and worlds, and swear their sacrifice will not go unnoticed, but you don't include yourself."

There it was. She had the answer. "I don't matter."

"Yes, you do!" Luke spoke with an earnest passion that almost sounded angry. "Why do you think Han is always on you? I used to think he liked to hurt your feelings, but I know he was just making sure you were feeling. Anything."

She wouldn't look at him. "Leia," Luke implored. "You're making me cry." She looked at him then, full of surprise. "I love you so much, Leia." Luke let the feelings of love and sadness envelope him.

"Who do you think is the first person Han is going to want to see, huh?' he nudged her in the ribs with his elbow.

She smiled, her secret thrill making her blush. "Chewie?" Luke shook his head, smiling. "You're 'Sweetheart'. Chewie is 'pal'."

"And you?" she was laughing at him now.

"I'm just 'Kid'," he laughed.

Leia's smile ebbed, but her expression was gentle as she rubbed the fabric over her legs. "He's in for a big surprise," she said nostalgically.

"Isn't he though. I might use the Force and hold him up by his ankles."

"I'm scared there's going to be some bad where we're headed."

Luke understood. "I know. It's not going to be easy. But we can't let it go."

"No."

"So we're going to get him, no matter what comes after."

Leia nodded. "No matter what," she agreed.

"You can be more ready, you know," Luke prodded.

Her brown eyes were hesitant. "The Force.''

"You only need to do what we did, on the knoll. Just think. It'll help you get ready."

"I'll try."

"No." He lowered his head, looking at her with raised eyes. "Just do it. Do you still dream of Han?" His question took her by surprise.

She blushed again. "Sometimes. Why?"

"I wonder if that's you accessing the Force."

She conceded the possibility, but didn't want that to be the answer. She wanted it to be Han.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Yoda sat in the navigation seat in the cockpit and enjoyed the vast blackness of hyperspace.

"Forgot, I had, Chewbacca, of the glory of space travel."

Chewie nodded. "It is transforming."

"Yes." "How are you with deserts?" Chewie asked. He'd been looking at the navigational atlas for the world of Tatooine. He'd been debating whether or not to land in the space port proper, or use one of the canyons smugglers like to lay low in.

Yoda ignored him. "And travel allows a Wookiee to rein himself in and plan.

" Chewie grunted. It was true. They still had several days travel ahead to the Outer Rim. Chewie had nothing but time on his hands and a chance to think.

Jabba's palace was remote, isolated, and heavily fortified. He and Han had only used the main entrance in their previous visits. He considered waiting until he had the complete layout. Find a guard in a cantina who would sketch it out, for a price. The outer walls were navigable, if he took the time, but the inner layout was another matter entirely. He had only been in the throne room. Han had made use of a guest room occasionally, but it was on the same level, corridors jutting off to the sides of the main room. The rancor pit was below, so that option was out. Above…. Chewie had no idea. Han could be kept below, listening to the rancor and waiting for his turn, or he could be kept above. Chewie just didn't know enough.

Leia interrupted his thoughts, brushing past Yoda to take a seat in Han's chair. They always saved it for her. Luke stood behind Yoda.

"Any ideas yet?" he asked.

Chewie showed them his research, pulling up the topogmap and indicating the possible landing sites for the _Falcon_.

"The canyons are the best bet," Luke commented. "Closer."

"We can rent a speeder in the space port," Leia offered.

"Or contact Jabba and be brought out," Chewie added.

Luke shook his head and frowned. "No. Then we have to rely on finding transport back to the ship on our own. Trust me. We don't want to walk that far in the desert."

"I don't like the idea of being in Jabba's clutches voluntarily, either," Chewie said.

"Do you have any idea where we'd find Han once we're in?" Leia asked.

Chewie shook his head. "I've been thinking, Chewie," Luke began. "I think you should wait until Leia and I are inside." He closed his eyes and smiled at the roar of outrage that followed his statement. "I knew you were going to say that. But think about it. You're Han's partner. How'd Han get in, most likely? Through the front door? Like we would?"

Chewie nodded.

"Captive, immediately. I know, I know," Luke held his hand up. "He surrendered, so of course immediate captive. But look at it from Jabba's point of view, Chewie. You coming in there, Solo's partner. Either you're surrendering too, and you wind up right next door to Han, in the same helpless situation, or you're gonna fight for him. And then you're dead."

"He's right, Chewie," Leia murmured into her raised knees.

"Have the big picture the boy does," Yoda pronounced. "Listen to him, you shall, Chewbacca."

Luke continued, gratified for Yoda's support. "Let me and Leia get inside. Maybe we can barter for Han. Bring the money he left behind. Jabba just might let Han go. Enough time has past, the money is there. If not," Luke shrugged, "then we're next door to Han, same helpless situation, and we'll be counting on you to fight for us."

"I don't like it," Chewie said. "But at least I get to fight at some point."

"Settled it is, then," Yoda said. "In the canyons we dock. These two approach Jabba. Then, you and I Chewbacca, we fight."

Luke rubbed his hands. "Good. I'm going to go through supplies. We'll need goggles, wraps, extra flasks for water."

"Master Luke," C-3PO said, "I hesitate to ask, but do I have any role in the rescue of Captain Solo?"

"None that I can think of."

"Stay on the ship," Chewie said. "Keep the Sand People and Jawas away from her. "

"Confront Vader for us," Yoda said. They all looked at him with horror. "What -?" Threepio was so stunned he couldn't finish his sentence.

"Kidding, I am," Yoda said.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The informant came late that night. He demanded an audience with Jabba, and the Throne Room was cast into light once more, hangers-on not destined for the Pit in a few days blinking blearily and drunkenly.

"I have information to sell," the informant rasped.

"What have you?" Jabba demanded, furious his sleep was disrupted.

"First, we deal. Five thousand."

Jabba thought. He wanted to get back to sleep. If the information was good, then five thousand was fair. If it was useless to him then he would make space on the skiffs for one more prisoner.

"Three thousand."

A Hutt never paid full price.

"Four."

"Done. Speak."

"A Corellian YT-1300 freighter has docked in Smuggler's Cove."

Jabba's eyes widened and his pupils dilated. Solo's partner! He'd begun to think he wouldn't have to deal with the Wookiee at all, so much time had passed. Now the game would get a little more interesting.

Jabba bent his arm at the elbow and his majordomo approached. "Pay him," he directed. "Have Solo cleaned up. Have PM7 put a tracker in. Just in case." He felt quite awake now.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Darth Vader sat in his hyberbaric chamber. He had removed his helmet and was concentrating on his breathing. _In, out_.

He stared at a map of the galaxy. The position of his flagship, _The Executor_ , was marked in green. _In._ The coordinates of the series of jumps he would take to Tatooine were plotted in red. _Out_.

He marveled at the disquiet just the coordinates gave him. Tatooine was a place he had pushed to the recesses of his mind. A place from which he had severed any ties; never wanted reason to visit again.

They had brought his son to Tatooine. _To Tatooine_ , of all places. Right under his nose, raised with the name of Skywalker.

He had not known. Nor had he suspected. Not even when he encountered a Force user at the battle of Yavin had the thought entered his head that this could possibly be his son. The Emperor had to tell him. _In_. When years ago, it was the Emperor who had assured him his son had died, along with his mother, and that their blood covered Vader's hands. _Out._

But his son had survived. And grown to a man on Tatooine.

Vader wondered how Luke experienced the desert world. Had he sat outside as the twin suns set, and wondered what else there was for him? Had he smelled the wind, the sourness of the air, before a storm? Had he thrust his hands into the sand at night to throw the grains in the air and see them sparkle in the silver light of the stars?

Vader disliked Tatooine. It had not been his home, yet he had lived there. His life had not been his own.

Vader had traipsed the sands of Tatooine as a slave. He had a mother and an owner. His time, his purpose, was never his own. It filled him with a simmering anger and a burgeoning shame, one that sometimes caught him unawares at times in the service of his duty as a Jedi, as if he had traded one master for another.

 _In_. He still had that anger, that shame. As a free adult he had willingly forfeited his life and served another. _Out_. He had been such a fool. The irony was not lost on him. He had sworn fealty to Palpatine so he and Padme and their unborn child could be free. He was free to live and love but he was also a prisoner of fear and loneliness.

He had sold himself. Palpatine was his master. And he still had this loneliness.

Vader clenched his fists, felt the dark side pulse inside him. _In. Out_.

He would be taking a great risk, going to Tatooine. The pilot Han Solo was in the hands of the Hutt, and Jabba wanted the bounty. Vader would normally delegate collecting prisoners to storm troopers. But Solo was a catch, a good catch. He knew of Solo.

He would like to kill Solo himself, if Jabba hadn't done it already. The bounty would be paid no matter what. Solo's ship was the one the Death Star caught in the tractor beam, the one that had escaped with Princess Leia and the plans for the battle station. It was the one that had brought Obi-Wan to his death, the one that carried his son Luke to the Rebels. The one that had saved him from blowing his son to smithereens during the battle, sending Vader's own Tie fighter into a tail spin it had taken quite a while to get control of.

Solo might be a good pilot, but he was a traitor, so he would have to be killed.

But he was also a good friend to his son. He wasn't exactly insignificant.

His gloved fingers deftly used the comm. Vader hated the sight of his pale, spindly digits. He wrote the Hutt that Solo was to be kept alive. At all costs.

If his son was anything like his father, Luke would want to rescue Han Solo. Luke would come to Tatooine. And Darth Vader would be waiting.

Vader pressed another button, and his black helmet descended to cover his face. The neck gave a hiss as the seal joined with his body suit, and soon he was no longer breathing on his own.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Han kept his eyes closed because they usually had nothing to tell him. But his back, his fingers, told him he wasn't laying on sand. And his ears… something had happened to the sand blowing against the outer walls. It had stopped. He smacked his lips. His mouth was dry, as it usually was. _Hmmm, one sense left. Should I sniff for my piss hole?_

He decided to open his eyes.

"Ah, there you are." A man was standing over him. Han blinked. Did he know this man?

"Feeling better?" the man asked. "Go on, take a moment. Assess yourself. You've been here a few days."

Han's brow furrowed. In all, now that he wasn't trying to figure out his environs, he felt different. He had the sense he was higher, not on the ground, and he felt… lighter. He lifted his fingers, found a thin sheet. He wiggled his toes, and they moved freely. _My boots_ , he thought. _My leg!_

His leg felt fine. There was no ache, no fire. His head didn't ache, his skin didn't hurt. Han's eyes met the man watching him with eagerness.

"I think you do feel better! Wonderful. Let's raise the cot and get some food in you."

The man pushed a button behind Han's head and the top portion of the cot began to angle upward. Han rose with it, seeing the sheet fall off his chest. He had no clothes on.

Han looked around. Another windowless room, but lit, in good white light. Full of equipment, shelves, jars and labeled pouches.

"He's letting me live?" Han asked. He remembered the man now. He was the palace medic.

"Alas, no," the medic answered sorrowfully. "You're destined for the Pit. In two days. But Jabba wanted you healthy. Said you have an appointment."

"An appointment?" Han asked blankly. _The Pit…. Sarlacc_. He suppressed a shudder.

"That's all I've been told," the man said apologetically. "Here, eat slowly."

Han took the bread. It was fresher than his usual rations. It didn't seem to matter, to eat when he would be dead in two days, but Han was very hungry. _What the hell_ , he thought. _To death. Should make a toast_.

"Got any brandy?" he asked.

The man looked at him askance.

"What was your name?" Han asked.

"PM 7."

"Oh, that's right." Han cleared his throat "PM for palace medic. What's the seven for again?"

He dimly remembered asking Maranya this.

"I am the 7th to serve Jabba."

"Seventh medic? That's it?"

"Yes, apparently one was here forty seven years. He was killed, as they all eventually were. They all have the same ending."

"Guess you know yours, then, huh," Han chewed.

"Unfortunately."

"How'd you come here then? Are you actually a medic? Learned and all?"

"Oh yes. Had a thriving practice. And, regrettably, a healthy spice addiction."

Han nodded in understanding. He smuggled spice for Jabba and was well acquainted with its addictive properties. He stayed away from the stuff himself. "Lost your license?"

"Everything. Everything," the medic lamented. "I indentured myself to Jabba. I have free room and board."

"And spice?"

"That as well," PM 7 dipped his head. "It's what holds me here. Why I shall never get out of my indenture."

"He sells it to you, doesn't he? Takes it out of your indenture?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, bud. Hate to break it to you, but you're gonna die here."

PM 7 went to a cabinet and handed Han his clothes. "They've been washed," he told him. "Some stains are set, and the fraying and holes remain, but they are clean."

Han put the clothes to his nose. They had no odor, which, in comparison to his recent experience with them, was quite remarkable. He lifted his arm and smelled his armpit. Then he ran his hand over his jaw line and through his hair. He looked at PM7 expectantly.

"Who the hell is my appointment with?" he demanded.

"I honestly have no idea."

Han frowned. He was clean shaven, bathed, laundered, healed…. Jabba wanted to present him healthy and clean? Why?

He couldn't make sense of it, and that meant it was bad.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They were running down a corridor of the Death Star. Red blaster fire ricocheted all around them but never touched them.

"This way." Han jerked her arm roughly and they ran up some more and skidded to a halt at a gaping chasm.

Leia looked alarmingly behind them. "Hurry," she urged, her hand on his forearm. "They're following us."

Han ducked down, opened a hatch in the chasm wall. He grinned at her. "There's all these secrets," he winked.

They crawled through the hatch and Han shut it behind them. He stood, marveling, his hands on his hips and told Leia with appreciation, "look what you've made for us now."

"My room," Leia said. Delight coursed through her. It was so perfect, so familiar, so hers. Her bedroom on Alderaan. "It's my room."

"It's nice," Han said. "Can I jump on the bed?"

She threw him a delighted glance and laughed. "Sure." Han took off his boots and stood on her bed. He started jumping, and she watched his hair. It couldn't keep up with his movements. Up when he was down, down when he went up.

She joined him and saw she was wearing her nightgown, one she'd had when she was eleven years old. He grabbed her hands and they jumped together. The skirt of her gown moved just like his hair.

"So this is where it went?" she asked him. "When they blew it up?"

"This is their conscience."

"Let's go see what else there is," she suggested. He hopped after her, trying to put a boot on, and she took his hand and led him through a door. It was the bathroom.

"Wow," Han said. "Nice tub."

"I love baths," she told him. She turned the spigot and hot water gushed out. "Come on, this way."

And she steered him through another door and there was the landing. If she went to the right they would encounter the bedroom doors of her aunts and father; left and they'd find the staircase. The artwork, the flower arrangement, it was all as she had seen it last time she was there.

"Can I give you a tour?" she asked him. He held his arm out in a grand flourish. "Please." He followed her, still hopping on one foot, the other almost slipping into a boot.

She took him all around. Through the sitting room, out to the garden, the music room and library. It was all very tactile. They rubbed their hands over fabrics, put their noses to flowers and dipped hunks of bread in oils and spices. He even played on the grand strike, the musical instrument, while she danced for him.

"It's nice to be able to bring people here, where my family lived," she mentioned to him. "This is when I was eleven."

"You'll have to bring Luke," Han said.

She considered it. "I will. He's in the garbage masher. Want to get him with me?"

Han shook his head. "I have to disable the tractor beam. We have to leave here, eventually."

"But I have to show Luke," she pouted.

"Well, go get him, and then we'll go."

"I wish this could be here forever." She was filled with a longing, a desire to hold on to something that was lost forever.

Han squeezed her hand gently. "When you win, it'll be gone," he told her sadly.

Now he was taking the lead, directing her back out to the corridors of the Death Star.

They reached the junction where they would have to go their separate ways. Leia blurted, "I don't want you to leave."

Han kissed her on the forehead. "I'm right here, Sweetheart."


	14. Chapter 14

They lay on their sides facing each other on the bed she'd known since she was a child. The arm that was tucked under her had reached to find Han's, and she laced her fingers in his. His other arm crossed her bicep to rest in her hair above her ear. They were both fully clothed, she in her white Senatorial gown and he in his usual spacer's garb.

She had the sensation of familiarity, togetherness, and even though their bodies didn't move she knew they were kissing. Her own body traced the length and warmth of his. He enveloped her, filled her; the emotional link she felt with him was in her fingers stroking his shoulders, his arms, face, chest; all of him. She never wanted to stop caressing him and she wanted to surround him and fill him in turn with the strength of her own emotions.

She swallowed.

"Han," she whispered. "Do you know me?"

"Every bit of you," he answered, his voice quiet and warm in her ear.

"All of me? The good and the bad?" she asked. Somehow this was very important.

"You have this," he indicated and she put her hand to the braids, felt the fibers he had woven in her hair.

"White and black." She closed her eyes as his hand moved over her. "Is that good, to have both?" She arched her back, encouraging his hands.

"Everyone has both," his breath was moist on her cheek. "Can't just show one color. No secrets."

"No secrets," she promised. On her bed lying side by side they started to dance, holding hands, arms wrapped around each other. They swayed together sensuously. Her hips made circles against his and she lifted her neck to his mouth, her eyes rolling over closed lids.

"Han," she breathed.

"Leia," he answered, moving his hand to her lower back and pressing her to him. She pushed with movements of her own, again and again, faster and faster. She breathed hard and intense and she woke to her own climax.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She lay panting on the bunk, awed.

 _Oh my stars_. Her sexual arousal lingered, and she passed her hands over her body. _Fully clothed, with Han Solo. Oh my stars._

She flashed a delighted smile to the ceiling. _Someday I'll enjoy the real thing._

This whole trip was a journey of self-discovery. If anyone had asked her before her introduction to the Force, she would have told them she was a simple being.

She understood duty and service. She enjoyed intellectual exercises and paid little attention to the physical. Eating and sleeping were things to be endured because they kept her functioning. She was cool and smart and excellent at her job. On the Death Star as a prisoner they had forced the physical upon her, and it caused pain and suffering and wanted to erode her carefully built intellectualism. She pushed the physical down, refused to acknowledge it. Instead of cool and smart she was detached and aloof. At the age of nineteen she had little expectations for her life other than to win the war or die young. She'd thought she was fine with that. Then along came Luke Skywalker and Han Solo. Three years later, and within the last few months particularly, she'd come to embrace the idea of friend and family, the validation of touch.

Leia had watched the twin suns set last night. The brighter, closer and larger sun made her think of Han. He was a bright glaring light, loud and vital. He seemed to resent the life he claimed she was barely living. He shirked emotions just as she did, but rather than explain them clinically he preferred to shoot them or punch them away. He gave her the physical; taught her to experience her senses and demanded she open them to him. He was all physical, she realized; her opposite; but instead of inflicting pain he offered two wide arms to hide in and a steadying heart beat to remind her she was vulnerable.

Luke was the sun lower and farther away. It's light was less intense but it was constant and warm. There was no separation of the physical and intellectual with Luke. He gave you his all and asked for the same in return. His love was nurturing and healthy. She was a seed that sprouted in his light and grew, tendrils of her being always seeking him.

They were dear and beautiful men, and as her dream retreated to the recesses of her mind and she thought of the task ahead, she worried about them.

She and Luke were to set out for Jabba's palace today.

Chewie was very nervous, mentioning for the hundredth time not to step on the trap door leading to the rancor, coaching them on how to talk to Jabba, lecturing them on the fighting techniques of Gamorreans.

Other than sneaking a hope she might see Han's crooked smile she tried not to think about him. That was the last of Chewie's cautions; that Han might not survive this encounter, and she wasn't ready to deal with that.

She worried for Luke. He was calm and sure, allied with the Force and his lightsaber, intent on what lay ahead. He hadn't spoken much since the revelation of his parentage, and she sensed it bothered him more than he was willing to let on. Then there was Yoda's repeated prophecy that they would meet Darth Vader on Tatooine.

Tatooine knew Anakin Skywalker, but it had yet to be introduced to Darth Vader. She wondered how Vader would cope in the desert heat with what he wore, in that helmet, fully covered. She smiled slightly, thinking of the dream about Darth Vader's cape unraveling and how Han put the black threads in her hair.

 _Now there's a bit of Vader in you_ , he had said.

Leia blinked once, her expression freezing. It struck her now, what an odd statement it was. _Why did you say that, Han_? There was a swirl of faces, of voices. Han, Yoda, Luke. _Two babies hidden_ , she heard Yoda's voice in her mind. Then Luke's: _Han in your dreams is how you access the Force_.

_Two babies hidden…. Now there's a bit of Vader in you…... A bondage from which the children of Vader free him cannot….A bit of Vader….._

"Luke," she whispered. Was it possible? Two babies hidden. She was adopted; she'd known that all her life. Bail had never hid that from her. But he never told her who her biological parents were. And she had never asked. It had never mattered.

 _Heritage isn't everything_ her own voice had argued for Luke to Yoda and Ben. There was no way Luke could ever be evil. She was certain of that. He was perhaps the most tolerant being she'd ever encountered. She didn't feel evil herself. She loved, she valued. She had never been violent.

She closed her eyes, longing for Han and missing him. She would miss him terribly if he rejected her. She remembered the power of the dream, how good he made her feel, weaving black satin threads in her hair. The sound of his voice, the gentleness of his hands. The care he took….he wanted her to know. _Now there's a bit of Vader in you. You're beautiful._

"I'm beautiful," she said softly. She saw the black fiber elegantly woven in her hair. Black….. _no secrets_. That was it. She nodded to herself, finding her clarity of thought reassuring, the Leia she always knew. Han had given her a weapon.

I really hope you survive, Han.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Leia," whispered Luke. He lay on his own bunk, and the strength of Leia's musings in the Force had woken him.

She was missing Han again. Her feelings for him had grown stronger the longer they were away from him. In a way, Luke was happy for her. Maybe it was the Force, maybe it was Han, maybe it was both; but she was finally embracing her feelings. He worried for her though. He worried if this mission failed, and they didn't get Han. If he was voluntarily with Jabba and not going to return, or if he got killed, she would be devastated. And she would close up again.

At least she wouldn't become Darth Vader. She wouldn't turn hateful. Which was worse though, he wondered? A life led without feeling, or one whose actions were led by hate?

Now she was thinking of him and felt her whisper "Luke.". It felt nice. Her worry about them facing Jabba, her concern for his well-being. He needed it. Her concern would engender his well-being. He couldn't think most people would react well to the news. _Hey, Senator Mothma – Darth Vader's my father_. He certainly wasn't about to broadcast it. But the fact that Leia's feelings for him hadn't changed, that she still supported him, believed in him, meant that Darth Vader was his father in name only.

Not even in name. He would have liked to have known Anakin Skywalker. Perhaps at one time they looked like each other. But now Luke was blue-eyed and fair-haired while Vader was all black and….prosthetic. The differences were huge. Not just physically, but it was symbolic of character as well.

Leia wasn't scared of Luke. It was possible then, to have an evil father and to be a good son.

 _I am a good son_.

He wondered about circumstance, and history, and destiny and strength of character. If Anakin Skywalker had been able to know his son, would Darth Vader be standing at the Emperor's side now? Would Luke be standing by his father?

Leia's link with the Force spiked. _Fathers._ Yes, Leia, he sent to her. _Children_. Yes, Leia. Her thoughts were more rapid, fueled by discovery and adrenalin. _Children. Babies. Two._

The Force was becoming rather insistent, to the both of them. Luke's eyes widened as he listened to Leia's free association. Yoda's testimony, flashes of Bail Organa, Anakin Skywalker, babies, children.

He gasped. _What had she just sensed!?_

He jumped off his bunk, palmed the door and had hurtled himself through it before it was fully open. Leia stood outside her own quarters, her eyes shining

. They fell into each other, sobbing. They talked, cried, clutched at each other, looked into each others eyes, one pair brown the other blue; until the purity of the emotion was spent and they only looked.

The Force spirit of Ben was quietly beaming at them and Yoda's eyes were closed in tacit acknowledgment.

"I don't believe this," Luke gasped. He looked in wonder at Leia. "How did you come to this so fast? So easily?"

She moved to sit beside him. "I don't think it was fast, or easy. I think, you've been right, Luke. That I've accessed the Force all my life. I'm just listening now." She smiled at him. "It's so natural, so true, isn't it? We're brother and sister."

"Are you… horrified? Reviled? About Vader?"

"I only care you're my brother," she answered immediately, but took another moment before she answered him. "Vader is a monster. He's done unspeakable things. But before him was a man. A man about to become a father, who loved and who feared. I don't know why it happened." She pressed her lips together, shutting out any connection to Vader. "But we never knew our father. He stopped being our father when he gave in to the fear."

Luke wanted to argue with her. He wanted to point out that Anakin gave in to his fear precisely to hold on to his children. But he said nothing. She had a point. Anakin turning to the dark side was unspeakable. No amount of love could forgive or forget that.

And Darth Vader had hurt her terribly. He couldn't forget that, either. Knew she thought about that constantly.

Quietly he asked her, "What about heredity? Genes. Do you think it's possible for us to snap, to give in and turn to the dark side?"

She looked at him levelly. "Anakin made a _choice_ , Luke. It was his conscious decision," she emphasized. "With blood, there's no choice. And are you afraid, Luke, like he was? Of anything?"

Luke's eyes left her as he thought. Afraid.. was he? He was afraid of Vader, in all honesty. He was afraid to confront him…. Afraid to be hurt, to die. But everyone died, at some point. Some cruelly, like his aunt and uncle. Some in pain, some peacefully in their sleep. But everyone died. He didn't want it to happen, not too soon anyway, but he couldn't be afraid when it was part of life.

There was more….He was afraid people would find out, call him a monster, persecute him for something that wasn't his fault. He was afraid of losing support, yes, that was the root of it. Would it happen? It could, he conceded. He looked at Leia. He wouldn't lose all support though. He had her. And Han.

"Are you?" he asked her. "Because, actually," and he smiled broadly, "I'm good, I think." He wrapped her in a hug. "I knew there was a reason I loved you the second I saw you."

"Well," Yoda cleared his throat and to Luke he seemed emotional. "Come far, have we."

"Master Yoda, why were we split up? Why Alderaan? Why Tatooine?" Luke asked.

"Knew of one only, Vader did," Yoda explained. "To Tatooine you were sent, with family. Certain we were, Vader would not return. Not to family, not to home." He turned to Leia. "For a daughter, Senator Organa had long wished."

"He was a wonderful father," Leia said tearfully. She looked up at Luke. "He was my father."

Luke nodded at her. He wished he had been closer to his uncle. "Would someone have come for Leia? Ben was on Tatooine – to watch over me? Who was watching Leia?"

"Had someone she did. Matters altered when Alderaan destroyed was." He pointed his foot at Leia. "She, the catalyst was."

"Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi," Luke said in understanding. Yoda nodded.

Leia stood up. "There's something we need to do, Luke Before we set out." She grabbed his arm and pulled him down to the captain's quarters. Leia palmed it open, grateful Han had allowed her access long ago. She squatted at the lockers where he kept clothing.

"What are you doing?" Luke asked.

Triumphantly Leia held up two black vests.

"Those are Han's," Luke observed needlessly.

"We're going to wear them. Here," she tossed him a vest and sifted through the clothes some more. "Put this on, too."

"White shirt and black vest?" Luke looked at her, puzzled. "Why?"

"No secrets," Leia said. She was smirking. "We are going to show that we are all things, black and white, light and dark."

"Oookay," Luke said slowly.

"Trust me," she said. Luke surrendered to a laugh.

He could almost hear the smuggler's voice in t he room with them. "Uh-oh. That always means trouble when Han says it."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They started off for the palace when the suns set after a final hug from Chewie for each of them. They were covered with a loose wrap over their heads, wore gloves on their hands, and Chewie had coated the soles of their boots with an insulate rubber in case they made their way back during the day. Luke carried the coordinates for the palace and the navigational device was leading them along the shortest route. Leia wore the money slung in a pack over her shoulder. They both were armed. Luke's lightsaber was hitched on his belt and he had a blaster. Leia tucked a knife in her boot, hid a palm pistol up her sleeve, and wore a blaster. Luke's Force sense was high in case they met any predators or Tusken Raiders.

The sands under the night sky sparkled in the starlight and Leia hadn't realized it would be so cold.

She and Luke didn't speak. The desert was still and quiet and they passed without incident.

When they reached the palace Leia found her heart was starting to thud in her chest. Luke squeezed her hand, his blue eyes glinting in the night.

"Here goes nothing," he said, and reached for the sentry detector.

"You mean here goes everything," Leia corrected.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Once inside Luke waved his hand and the Gamorreans let them pass in a stunned silence. Luke smirked. He felt very sure of himself. The Force was with him, participating and indicating like it had on the Death Star.

They paused for a moment by themselves in the Throne Room. Jabba reclined on his seat, deep in sleep, a Twi'lek slave girl tethered at his side, also taking the opportunity to rest.

Leia had never seen a Hutt in person. Jabba the Hutt was enormous; his heavy, long body tapering to a point; small, almost useless arms resting on a corpulent stomach. She moved her palm pistol into her gloved hand, careful not to reveal it.

The room smelled of spice and bodily fluids and the smoke made her eyes sting. It reeked of indulgence, decadence and degeneracy.

"Jabba!" Luke called out, sure and clear. His voice seemed to issue from all directions.

Jabba started, his little arms jerking upward and his eyes blinking quickly.

Patrons and employees spoke worriedly among themselves, curious at this couple who had no guard and no announcement.

Jabba did not waste time wondering how they had gained access uninhibited. He quickly regained his self control but eyed their holstered blasters warily.

Luke continued to take charge. "I am Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight. I am a friend of Captain Solo. You will release him."

Jabba chuckled, and Luke saw that Jabba was not open to suggestive thoughts. This wasn't something he was counting on, but it would have made things so much easier. A droid took its place next to Jabba and began to translate.

"I have been expecting you," Jabba said through his interpreter.

Beside him, Leia shifted her stance. _Be still_ , he said through the Force. _He hasn't played his hand yet._

"I come in no office other than that as friend of Captain Solo," Luke said firmly

. "Solo is not your concern."

"We are aware he surrendered to you. Surely you've had long enough time to make an example of him. Is he alive?" Under his gloves Luke crossed his finger.

"Solo is serving his purpose." The patrons in the room tittered and grovelled.

Luke sensed Leia shift again. _Steady_.

"We have the money Solo owes you," Luke said. With that, Leia slid the pack off her shoulder and let it fall with a heavy thud to the ground. Jabba flicked a wrist and a Whipid approached and snatched the bag. He brought it before Jabba, who indicated it should be opened. Credits and jewels spilled out. Patrons made appreciative sounds.

"I will take the money," Jabba announced. "Because I take what is offered. But not for Solo's life. And I know you, Skywalker, though no one has designated you a Jedi Knight. Perhaps you merely think highly of yourself. You are with the Rebel Alliance. I will take you, as well as your money. And your companion."

Luke shook his head, unperturbed. "No, Jabba. I'm afraid you're making a mistake," he said mildly.

"We shall see," Jabba said, his eyes blinking slowly. He turned and spoke to the Whipid in Huttese. Then he turned back to Luke. "Would you like to see Solo?"

"I would," Luke answered slowly. "But rest assured I will be leaving here with Solo."

"I am dropping Solo in the Sarlacc Pit tomorrow. Perhaps the Empire will allow your executions to take place with his." He and Luke engaged in a staring contest while Leia tried to take in her surroundings without moving her head too much. The little pistol twitched in her palm and she ached to use it, but saw that it would be a wasted effort. The element of surprise was long past, and there were too many others in the room also armed. Too much was at stake.

An expectant silence stretched out til Leia thought she would scream. Then there came from a corridor behind Jabba's throne and to the side, sounds of movement through the sand.

Leia's heart leaped.

 _Han_.


	15. Chapter 15

He wasn't asleep when they came for him. His ears, grown stronger in the darkness, had picked up the sound of the Gamorreans outside his cell and he was already standing when the door opened, letting the tiny shaft of light in. There were four, and he thought he might as well try. They had not reattached the shackles when he left PM 7's care, so he could move his body more freely. He made a rush for the door, sending one guard flying with a kick and butting a second with his head when the pike staff struck him squarely across his middle.

_Damn it._

Maranya sat up with alarm.

They grabbed his elbows and hoisted him to his feet and he was dragged out into the light. He blinked, his forehead growing a welt as they moved him down the bedrock tunnel.

The fourth guard made certain the door was closed and Maranya lay back down in the sand, shivering.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Han was careful not to gawk when he saw who was standing in front of Jabba's throne.

 _Luke. Leia_.

He grew tense, felt a kind of fluttering uncertainty. Because the unexpected appearance of Luke and Leia threw a whole new wrench in the oil pan. He knew Jabba; they didn't. They didn't belong here and they shouldn't have come. Fools

. He was really glad to see them. He just didn't want to see them hurt.

Where the hell was Chewie?

Han took a steadying breath. Chewie wasn't here. Either Chewie was really pissed and wanted no part of the rescue, or they had a plan.

Han considered. Chewie was undoubtedly pissed, but he had that Life Debt he'd never be free of. So there was a plan.

He was glad to see them, alright. They looked good; they looked together. They stood side by side, a bag of credits and gems on the floor at their feet between them and Jabba.

 _Don't tell me_ , he almost snorted.

They were trying to buy his freedom.

Fools. This was the plan? To fail at buying his freedom? He almost ran his hand through his hair in despair but managed to get a grip on himself.

Luke and Leia were looking at him. Leia's big brown eyes were soulful and alarmed and angry. Luke's were calm, like he knew what he was doing. The kid looked like he'd benefited from some confidence lessons.

Han did a double take. What was with the clothing?

Obviously they had run out of things to wear. Why the hell did they go through his things?

 _Didja get new uniforms?_ he wanted to ask them. _Appreciate Han Solo day or something?_

Han saw Luke give a timid smile his way, as if he'd read his thoughts.

They were dressed like twins, for crying out loud, in his black spacer's vest and white linen shirt, a couple of sizes too big for both of them. Luke looked just like that, like a kid playing dress up, even with his serene face. Leia had stylishly arranged his shirt over leggings and boots and wore a wide leather belt over her middle….also his. She looked good, he had to admit it. She looked damn good.

The sight of his two friends was so shocking, and the sight of Leia wearing his clothes so alluring, he forgot to listen to Jabba.

Jabba was going on about the Empire. How he had expected Luke and Leia to come. Well, that wasn't good and the kids was looking a little less sure.

"The Empire suggested I keep you, Solo," Jabba was saying, "in case your friends decided to try for you. Apparently they had more faith in your value than I did. And now the Empire is coming for your friends."

Han shook his head and his eyes got steely. "I don't have Rebel friends, Jabba.

" "It's no good, Solo. They are here, bargaining for you, and the Empire had said they would come. Maybe they mean nothing to you, and as that is what I know of you, that well may be true, but you certainly mean something to them."

Han shook his head. "They're just making sure I don't talk. Found out where I am and they'll kill me if you don't."

Luke was staring intently at Han, trying to figure out where he could be going with this. In all the planning and discussion, they had completely overlooked the fact that Han might have his own ideas about who needed rescue and how. He bounced on the balls of his feet, pausing to watch the Force as it undulated in paths among Han, Jabba, and himself.

"Shut up, Han," Luke snarled, thinking that followed Han's tone, but he was never so glad to hear his friend's voice. He looked the smuggler over carefully. Other than a patch of new pink skin on his wrist and looking much thinner than he remembered, Han seemed to be in good health. There was a fresh knot on his forehead, however, that told Luke Han wasn't the one watching after his own safety. Obviously Jabba wanted Han seen in good shape. Maybe Jabba was telling the truth that he expected them.

Luke's scowl faltered a little. _To Vader will your friend lead you_.

Leia was taken in by Han. She enjoyed knowing his sense again, now that the Force had shown her what it was. She was alarmed by the welt on his head, his gauntness, but his eyes blazed dark and dangerously, and she was comforted by that.

"Talk about what, Solo?" Jabba demanded to know.

Han assumed a smug nonchalance. "The Rebellion, Jabba. I know the whole operation. That one there," he pointed at Leia, "ranks high. I was in her _strictest_ confidence." He leered when he said it, gave the word a sexual connotation.

Beside Luke, Leia's weight shifted on her feet and her eyes bore into Han. _Steady_ , came Luke's bracing counsel. _He's wild, Leia, remember that. And he doesn't know. He thinks he's saving us._

"In fact," Han continued to Jabba. "I think the Empire will be very interested to hear what I have to say."

Jabba was regarding Han with slitted eyes. "I don't believe you, Solo. You would have offered this information to me earlier, if you were sure it would save your life."

"That's just it, Jabba," Han assured him. "You're so pissed at me, I couldn't be sure you'd take it and have me killed anyway. Thought I'd wait. My last card, Jabba. I'm still playing."

Luke couldn't read the expression on Han's face. Surely he was protecting them? By surrendering the Rebellion?

"Remember that Moff you strung up with me?" Han's voice got a little flatter, angrier. Leia's expectations of his treatment were confirmed. Her eyes raked his appearance again. _No scars_ , she thought.

"We got nice and chummy," Han lied casually. "Talked about how much we both hated you, how we could take you down. I figure I can get my life and my revenge at the same time." Han was pulling words out of the air, remembering to sound smooth and confident, and hoped his bluff rang a bit more true than the last-ditch effort he was putting forth.

"Revenge?"

"Yeah, Jabba. I won't ask a penny from the Empire. I want my freedom, and I want your hide. I think my new Moff friend'll be more than willing to help."

Jabba chuckled slowly, with appreciation. "Solo, my boy. I have enjoyed our working association."

"You sound scared, Jabba." Han shook off the guards and took several steps into the room, his back to Jabba. "They can do it, and you know it. The Empire. They cruise your space and you let them pass and they ignore your criminal activity, but if they wanted, they could blow you to the stars." Han gestured at Luke and Leia."I figure I can make out pretty good. I can give you to the Empire, and I can give them them. The Rebellion wants me dead, too. Hadn't you heard, Jabba? I left 'em. Left 'em high and dry, with a whole lotta costly freight o' theirs. Left 'cause I don't need that bullshit. I don't need _her_." His eyes met Leia's, and she read a warning. "They run tight security. Can't risk deserters." He nodded. "They came to space me, alright."

Next to Luke, Leia's lips parted. _What are you doing_ , _Han_ she wondered. She heard him lapse into spacer's dialect, heard the contempt dripping in his voice.

He actually made it sound possible. That one man, a measly smuggler, would be able to bring down a Hutt and a Rebellion in one full stroke. Would he though? _They came to space me_. That wasn't true. He knew that. Her uncertainty in his motivations dissipated quickly. He was lying to Jabba. But his declarations were weak, almost too late, desperate.

Leia thought furiously. Jabba was waiting to present Luke and Leia to the Empire. So they should be mostly unharmed until the Empire arrived. She shuddered. Until Vader arrived, she amended. And Chewie and Yoda would be here soon. She closed her eyes. It was still unclear if they would make a clean getaway. But Han, his situation was still very precarious. Executed tomorrow! They had come almost too late.

They needed to do something.

She left Luke's side, ignored his Force comment of _huh? Leia_! And marched straight up to Han and slapped his face.

"Bitch," he said to her.

She made a show of sexually harassing him, like they had done to her on the Death Star. Grabbed his hair, bit his lip, clutched his crotch. Her hands groped all over him. His eyes widened in surprise as she slipped the pistol in the waist of his pants. They were so loose she feared the pistol might slip into his boot. She waited for a shout, someone to have noticed. But they were so taken up with what they thought she was doing, they failed to notice what she did. _Thanks, Luke_ , she told him silently.

She finished with a flourishing kiss and another slap to his face. His cheek was bright red.

"Fuck you," he snarled. "I'll sell you to the highest bidder." Then he winked at her.

She wanted to laugh out loud, to shout to the world the joy that Han Solo brought her. "You're dead to me," she snarled back at him.

"Enough," Jabba bellowed. "Remove these Rebels. Take their blasters. Do not let them come to harm until the Empire arrives. Those are my orders." His eyes swept the room, warning anyone of stepping out of line. "As for Solo," he paused, flexing his hand, and the Whipid moved.

Luke and Leia clutched hands. Jabba thought it was because they were in terror of their failure, but the sight of Han's body crumpling to the ground was shockingly violent.

Leia told herself not to look back as she and Luke were escorted out of the throne room.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Luke?"

"I know, Leia."

They were in a room off the throne atrium. It was in the opposite direction than the one they had brought Han in from. It had no window but it was lit, cool, with a sand floor and a simple chair, table and cot. Where the Throne Room was expansive, its domed ceiling supported by large buttresses which opened wide to accommodate hundreds of beings, this room was small, compact, architecturally bland.

To Luke it was a room where physical needs were met; no more no less. There was no threat here.

"We're safe here. For now," he told her.

"Did we blow it?" Leia asked from her seat on the floor. She refused to use any of Jabba's provisions. Her voice was tiny and frightened.

"I don't think so. Not from our angle, anyway. We knew the Empire would come. Well, Vader specifically." But he knew she wasn't asking about themselves.

"He said dropped in the Pit tomorrow. What's the Pit?"

"A creature lives down it, in the sand," Luke explained. "A Sarlacc. It has tentacles and grabs prey, or it just loosens the sand. You're eaten, but not really eaten. Digested, I guess is the way to put it."

Leia shuddered. "Will we be able to stop it? The execution?"

Luke sighed. "I hope so. Don't forget, we might be joining him. But Chewie and Yoda will be coming. They should be leaving soon"

"You did well, Luke," Leia stated quietly. She nodded in silent affirmation. "I still have my knife. You have your lightsaber. You're very powerful."

"I don't know about very. But thanks. You did well, too. I know it's hard, listening to that, and watching it. But I need you to keep quiet. If he learns your identity, we've got bigger problems." Luke felt like something hadn't gone right. "We just didn't anticipate Han," he told her. "Any of the ways things could have gone down with him." He took a seat beside her and put a hand on her knee. "They only knocked him out, Leia."

"Only," she repeated. It was hard to get the image out of her head, of that club swinging wide and hard, smashing into his skull. The way he went _down_ , a splayed heap. "I have a feeling that's happened to him a lot here."

"Yeah." He shoved himself into her, trying to cheer her. "So he's used to it."

She smiled a little at that. "Han wasn't exactly thrilled to see us, was he?"

"He thinks we can't take care of ourselves."

"If we hadn't come sooner, Luke..." "I know. Did I see you give him the pistol?"

"Yes. I hope they don't notice it."

"I don't think they will. For one thing, they're not bright, or observant. Those Gamorreans. For another, did you see behind, where he came from? It's dark back there."

"Yeah. I noticed his eyes took time adjusting to us."

"I can't believe Jabba actually bought that, about the Rebellion killing deserters."

"I'm a little pissed at him for coming up with that," Leia declared.

Luke smiled. "And making out like you were some spurned lover. You caught on fast. He did too, for that matter. You surprised the heck out of me with your moves. Where'd you learn those?"

"On the Death Star," she whispered. "The storm troopers. It's what they did to me."

"Oh. Leia." Luke felt like he might be sick in the sand. "I had no idea." His head whirled in discomfort and horror. "I had no idea. I can't even say I'm sorry, can I?"

"No. It's OK." _No it's not; it'll never be OK, never again._

"It's not OK, Leia." He looked at her, his voice stern. "It is never OK. Don't you ever, ever file it away, or think that's how it is, how men are, or normalize it or whatever. Gods, I'm so upset I can't talk. But it's not OK. It's wrong, it's violence. You're beautiful, and they are wrong. Got it?"

"Relax, Luke," Leia said. _You're beautiful_. "I'm not going to let it ruin me. I usually don't think of it."

"What about when you do?"

"I don't know. I don't think about it."

"But what about -"

"I'm not going to think about it now, either," she snapped.

"Sorry." Luke lapsed into silence. He thought about Han, and Leia's feelings for Han, which she usually kept carefully tucked away. Now that he knew this about her, he could see how her interactions with Han were clouded by it. What would happen now, though? Now, in his absence, when she decided to allow love? What would happen when he came back? "Does Han know?" he wondered.

"Of course," she answered. "He was an Imperial once."

"Oh," Luke said. Han knew, and Luke hadn't. Hmm. "I was always a little jealous of Han," he admitted.

Leia snorted. "Because he was an Imperial once?" she said derisively. He smiled. "No," he said. "Because you… because he seemed to get a reaction out of you. You sought him out. But I'm not jealous anymore."

She snorted again.

"I've got something with you he doesn't. I've got a sister."

"Trust me," Leia said, sarcastic and fond at the same time. "He doesn't want a sister."

Luke laughed. They were quiet together. "How will you handle that?" Luke asked finally.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "But I want to. I need to."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Maranya carefully gathered the cooler sand from below the surface and packed it on Solo's head. She couldn't see in the dark but felt the grains stick in his hair, stick to the blood not yet dried.

"Solo," she said and shook him by the shoulder.

He moved his head slightly, groaned. "You must wake."

He made a noise.

"Solo. We travel to the Pit in day's light. Spend your last hours awake."

"Huh?" he said groggily.

"The sand shall take us soon."

Han wriggled himself up on his elbows, her words slow to register. "That bother you?" Even in the dark he squinted, the pain in his head causing his eyes to ache.

"Doesn't it you?"

"You want to smell the piss hole your last hours? That make you feel alive?

"Yes."

"Six years, Maranya."

"Yes." She bowed her head. Her life had been given away, then stolen from her. But it was the only life she knew and as much as was stolen from her it was better than the alternative.

"And you kept count."

"Yes."

"You were good, Maranya." She closed her eyes at his use of the past tense. "I know you love life. Even this life. I don't know why, but you do."

"I have never...," she said, and then her voice trailed away. She was not able to articulate the emotions as she viewed the end of her life. For some reason that made her more sad than anything. "I wish…," and she faltered again.

"That's what you've been doing here? Wishing?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth he knew it was a cheap shot. Han felt bad for his outburst. "Never mind. You've actually made the best of what you could here."

Han fingered the small palm pistol tucked into his waist band. _Thank you, Sweetheart._ _Sorry you had to do that_. He could still taste the bite Leia gave his lip and closed his eyes in burning regret.

"Maranya," Han said thickly. "I need you to do something for me."

She waited for him to continue."

After I kill Jabba, there's a Wookiee and two humans I need you to lead out. To the hangars. Show them how to leave."

She was silent again, trying to perceive all that was being said. "You will kill Jabba?" she finally said.

"Yes."

"And you will escape?"

Pause. "If I can."

"If you can't?"

"They need to."

"Say again. You want me to …?"

"Just show them the way out. One Wookiee, very tall, furry. Has a roaring language. And two humans. Young man and woman. Take them to the skiff hangar, front door, I don't care. Just help them."

"It is help?"

"Yes." Han closed his eyes, tired, and tired of how much this girl did not comprehend of life, yet who loved life so much. "It is help. And I would thank you."

"I can help you," she offered.

He smiled slightly. She was sticking to her world, what she knew. "No. I don't need it. Leave with them. You'll be free. But listen to me, Maranya." He reached where he thought her face was and held her jaws between his hands. "Don't you ever offer to sex again. You hear me? Never again."

His large hand squeezed her face, still sore from the beating, and she wrenched it away. She was unable to comprehend what he was saying.

"Life can be different," he said. "Let someone teach you."

Maranya thought of the day to come, when she would travel on the skiff to the Pit. The last time she had been out of the Palace was six years ago, when she'd been brought from her father's farm. She knew the cold nights but had forgotten the intensity of the suns' heat, the wind, the smell of fresh air. She had told herself she would hold these sensations to her dearly before she descended into the pit.

"You're saying I won't die?" she asked him.

"Not tomorrow, anyway. Jabba's going to die."

"And I can be free?"

"You will be."

"How will I leave? Where will I go?"

"Go with my friends. You can go anywhere. Back to your farm, even, if you want. Or on a space ship."

"Is my family still there?"

"How would I know?" Han sighed. "Would you want to go back there? After what your father did to you?"

"It is bad then, what he did?"

"Yes, very bad." How could she not know that? "You should go back just to yell at him. Then leave."

"How will you kill Jabba?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Your friends?"

"They're helping."

"They'll want you to leave with them, Solo." She felt him nod, but he didn't answer.

"They came for you?" she asked.

"Yes." "What is that like?"

"It's good," he choked. Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Solo was bluffing, Jabba was fairly certain of that. Vader would come and he would collect, and pay handsomely, for the two Rebels. And he would be happy to pay for Solo's bounty as well. If Solo kept his mouth shut, it would be a profitable day for Jabba the Hutt.

Solo wouldn't keep his mouth shut, though. Did Solo have anything on the Rebels? The two others surely knew locations and whatever information Vader could pry from them, if he could indeed pry anything from them. They were probably prepared to die for their cause. As for Solo, if he was with the Rebels as he'd heard, he knew things. And Vader could probably pry it out of him a lot easier than the two ranking Rebels.

What if Solo offered to give it up, rather than have it pried? Jabba understood that viewpoint. Solo would most certainly offer. And his temper was bad enough Jabba was sure the Hutt would be his price.

Jabba knew two things for certain about Solo. One was his Wookiee copilot would be coming. The freighter had made planet fall. He knew he could not disregard the actions of the Wookiee. It would be easier if Solo were gone.

The second thing he knew about Solo was that he was as unpredictable and temperamental as his ship.

So which was it? Jabba blinked.

He needed more information from the Rebels before deciding on what to do with Solo.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Darth Vader stood like a statue under the awning of the skiff. The heat was more unbearable than he remembered, but the last time he'd been to Tatooine he'd been a whole man. An angry young man.

He was still angry; even more angry to be called back. His association with Tatooine filled him with an uneasiness he hadn't experienced in a long time. He listened to the hypnotic sound of his mechanical lungs inhaling and exhaling, trying to calm himself.

His son was calling him back.

His son. Eager, heroic, powerful. Powerful, yet power rendered meaningless; just another pawn for the Emperor. The Emperor enjoyed games, and Luke was now another player. Vader scowled inside his helmet, feeling sweat run down his temple. He also felt the Force contract and retreat from him. His time was winding down. He sensed it, knew it to be true. The Emperor would have it happen at the hands of his own son, but the Emperor was not the only one to play games.

Vader wondered if his son had arrived at Jabba's palace yet. _Do you sense me, son? I await meeting you at last._

The holo of his son on the bounty boards told him he was blue-eyed, with light brown hair. Of medium height, slim build. It was an old holo, from here on Tatooine; Luke's school days. His eyes were frank and tolerant and he bore the confidence and exuberance of youth. He seemed a well-adjusted boy. A fairly content boy. Vader ached for him. He wanted to meet with him, talk to him. Not about power, not about the Force, but about life. Luke's life, his own life. Vader wanted to know what his son wanted. He wanted his son to know what he had wanted, once upon a time. Something he would never have.

Emperor Palpatine's deception burned into Vader's heart like a tattoo. Peace. The galaxy had not known peace in a long time, even before Vader had surrendered his soul. Palpatine was collecting the galaxy in his fist, closing up around it like he was a black hole. Things were getting darker and darker, smaller and smaller.

Mechanical lungs breathed in and out. Gamorreans kept a wary distance from the tall figure clad in black, whose cape flapped in the stiff breeze caused by the speed of the skiff.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The waiting was awful. Luke paced a path in the sand across the room.

What was going to happen? He closed his eyes and tried to sense the movement of the Force in the future, but found it wasn't reliable. He had a link to Yoda and Chewie, who apparently were traversing the desert right now. All he sensed was misery and determination and worry. The determination and worry were from Chewie, focusing his thoughts on Han and the rescue. Yoda, apparently, was miserable. Luke smiled.

His fragile hold on the Force made him feel uneasy. There were too many things going on, too many things intersecting, too many factors affecting something else. Jabba. Vader. Han. Himself and Leia.

Everyone was connected. How to break them? How to break Han from Jabba without separating Leia from Han? How to break Vader from Jabba without cutting Luke?

Luke wondered if Vader had landed on Tatooine yet. He wondered how long it would take the Dark Lord of the Sith to come to Tatooine. Would he be anxious to come? Or would he feel strong of purpose and destiny?

 _I need to get calm_ , he told himself. He sat down, crossed his legs, and breathed. _In, out_.

Leia stood just as the door latch moved, signaling its opening. She moved to Luke's side. "Luke. Do you feel it too? A menacing."

Luke nodded. Danger wasn't in the room earlier, but now it lurked all over the palace.

The majordomo gestured without speaking. They followed him the short distance back to the throne room.

Jabba still reclined. Leia wondered if he ever moved. He was using a spice bong and spoke without preamble. "I have two stories."

Luke listened to the translator droid, not taking his eyes off the Hutt.

"Which is true?" Jabba demanded.

Luke feigned ignorance. "What are the two stories, Your Eminence?"

"Solo. You tell me you come as his friend, to recover him. He tells me he betrayed you and you come to kill him. Which is it?"

Luke's answering tone was mild but he began to think furiously. "The truth speaks louder," he said. It was one of those useless comments Yoda was good at, and apparently it infuriated the Hutt as much as it did Luke.

"No," he bellowed. "I want the truth from you."

"How can you be certain I speak the truth?" Luke said. In his mind he saw the link, _Han. Jabba. Which gets Han killed? Or does it matter? Pit tomorrow._

"Solo wants to live," Jabba said. "He will not help you when the Empire comes. He will either sell what he knows, or they will be able to take it from him. He will give them everything while you are prepared to die for everything. Do you see that?"

"Yes," Luke allowed carefully.

"Even if you come as his friend, you see it is over for you. Because of your association with him."

"Why are you so concerned with us, Jabba?" Luke swept his hand to include Leia, who was rigid beside him but staying thankfully quiet. "I was under the impression you have us taken into account as well."

Jabba nodded as much as his fat neck would allow. "I do. You will die by the Empire. But I don't trust Solo as far as the Empire is concerned. I have my own interests to protect. Just how much can he give them?"

Luke paused. If he said Han knew nothing, Jabba would either kill Han immediately, or give him to the Empire along with Luke and Leia. And Jabba was right. Han did not have Force training to keep information from Vader. He decided to gamble. "He knows a lot."

"If you value your Rebellion more than your lives, I have a solution for you. It won't save you from the Empire's clutches, but it will save the Rebellion."

Leia felt the familiar sensation of her dreams, that she had made a wrong turn, and a bottomless chasm opened before her, impossible to cross. She edged closer to Luke, touching his fingertips.

"You will kill Solo," Jabba said. "Right now."


	16. Chapter 16

"Chewbacca," Yoda spoke from his perch on Chewie's shoulder. "I sense resolution."

"Resolution?" Chewie questioned. They had left a few hours after Luke and Leia. The suns had risen even though the planetary system of timekeeping called it night. The temperatures rose as quickly as the suns, and Chewie kept his mouth open, breathing rapidly in a pant, trying to keep his system cool. He carried Yoda on his shoulder, feeling the aged Jedi would slow him down. They had one water flask left and could see the turret of the palace in the distance.

"A decision has been made," Yoda said. "Resolved, someone has, a death there should be."

The primitiveness of the palace painted an immediate picture for Yoda. He sensed tenuous holds on life, and strong fears of death. Luke and Leia stood out like beacons of light. There was a presence of resentful aggression that he was fairly certain belonged to the missing pilot. But Yoda had caught the sudden sensation of distress, of someone looking at a crossroads where both directions were impassable.

Chewie wasn't really surprised. They were headed for Jabba the Hutt, after all. Someone died daily inside the palace walls, and not usually by natural causes. "Who?" he ventured to ask.

"Not sure am I. Sense I do, Luke and Leia. Agitated, they are. Upset, she is. Control, has Luke."

"Have you sensed Vader?"

"Only his anger. Covers the desert it does, like a layer of sand. Not in the palace yet, I sense. "

"My Life's Work, then?"

"Sense, do I, his story's climax."

"I must hurry, then."Chewie began to run.

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The Gamorreans came again.

 _Busy day_ , Han thought wryly. Judging by the temperature in the cell he thought it was not yet morning. This was not a good portent, being called forth again. They grabbed both him and Maranya, hauling them roughly to their feet. Han went quietly this time, thinking perhaps Chewie had finally made his move. He kept his wrist bent inward, holding the palm pistol Leia had given him tucked inside the cuff of his sleeve. His body was coiled, ready.

Maranya's shackles made a hissing sound across the sand. It was the first time he had actually seen her, and through blinking eyes still adjusting to light he saw her matted hair was dark brown. Her malnourished body had boils on her shoulders and neck, and her jaw was set in an under-bite. She was looking at him, too, her expression stern in its blankness and unreadability.

They entered the throne room and Han stopped, surveying the scene. Luke and Leia were there already, refusing to look at him. He pressed his lips together. _This can't be good._ One Gamorrean gave him a shove and he stumbled close to Luke and Leia. Three others remained off to the side with Maranya.

"Ah, Solo," Jabba chuckled when the room quieted, a sound deep and slow. It rumbled around the room and Luke could almost feel it snapping at his feet like an aggressive animal.

"I believe I know which is the truth now," Jabba proclaimed. He sucked on his spice bong. Smoke curled around the bone tiles which decorated it. "You gave me both, Solo: the lie they were your enemy, and the truth you could cause my enterprise harm. The three of you will die. You sooner than your friends."

Jabba paused. He directed his next comments at Luke and Leia. "You cannot deny Solo is the weak link," Jabba informed them."Whether he sells the information, or it is taken from him under torture, the Rebellion is doomed. If you wish to see your life's work continued, you will kill Solo."

 _Life's work_. Leia thought. _Chewie_. She was only able to see Han's profile when she turned her head, and she thought he was probably doing a better job at a Sabacc face than she was. Even unreadable, there was no denying the life behind those eyes. Even when Chewie and Yoda came, she could not conceive how they would be able to stop this execution.

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The massive doors of Jabba's Palace began to open before them. Yoda sensed the dull beings on the other side of the threshold, felt the tension building in the Wookiee's body.

"Remember, Chewbacca," he cautioned. "Let the Force gain us entry."

"It would make me feel better to tear something apart," Chewie rejoined as the Garmorreans stationed at the door turned their attention to them and raised their weapons.

"Feel better you will, but known will we become. Suggest to them I will, to allow us to pass." Yoda closed his eyes. _No need for escort have we. With Jabba we must speak._

The Gamorreans shifted their weight, as if they had forgotten why they moved in the first place. They watched with sluggishly curious faces as Chewie padded by with Yoda on his shoulder.

"Is this how Luke got in?" Chewie asked.

"It is."

"And he hasn't come out."

"Soon he will, and with your partner."

"Will those guards stay influenced?"

"They should, yes."

"Why don't you suggest they shoot themselves? Or something like hop on one foot?"

"Coercion and influence differ," Yoda scolded. "Never to take advantage with the Force is one."

"You're the master," Chewie breathed under his breath.

"A shield, I create. Remain undetected, will we. Know you will, the time to act. "

Chewie's footfalls were silent in the sand. They made their way unchallenged through the bedrock tunnel. With his sensitive hearing, Chewie could make out the deep tones of Jabba the Hutt, but no other voices joined the conversation.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Which one of you would like the honor of killing your friend Solo?" Jabba asked, his eyes sweeping between Luke and Leia. "An interesting decision to make. Shall the lover do it? Or the Jedi Knight?"

Han was listening. _Jedi?_ He raised his eyebrows at Luke. _Luke_? His friend returned his gaze steadily.

Jabba pretended to weigh his choices. "Give the blaster to the Jedi," he snapped. "And take care, Jedi. You see how every weapon in the room is trained on you. They will fire at you if you miss."

A Whipid had to press the blaster between Luke's fingers and he actually brought Luke's index finger to the trigger.

"I won't shoot him," Luke said determinedly.

Jabba waved his hand dismissively. "The manner of death is not important. If you'd rather, you can slit his throat. Push him to the rancor. It's all the same to me. As long as Solo dies."

Luke looked at the blaster in his hand, considering Jabba's words. Every effort he'd made so far had not gone the way he desired or even planned. While he still felt the power of the Force at his side, he couldn't control the outcome of any being's thoughts. It was very frustrating.

But Jabba was giving him a choice, and Luke considered how he could influence the turn of events. _Rancor_ , maybe, he thought. _Then I can fall with him. He's going to need the Force_. Mentally, Luke shook his head. It was a long drop to the rancor's pit, he could see that from where he stood. Even if they avoided the rancor, which would be difficult, how would they get out?

Then Luke brightened. _My lightsaber_.

"You have a supple mind," Luke told Jabba. "I would like to extend Solo the courtesy of a death of my choosing. He will die by the hand of a Jedi. Painlessly and quickly."

Jabba acknowledged the method with a nod and pointed at Maranya. She was pulled roughly before Han. "I see the Sexer is here. I hope you've enjoyed her Solo. She is along to give you the final pleasure before you die."

The room was tense. Maranya was aware of everyone looking at her, particularly Solo. She took a step towards him, their bodies almost touching. She was hesitant to start. It had never been demanded of her like this before, in the Throne Room. She'd had numerous people watch before, but they were merely waiting their turn. She looked around, seeing a great number of beings. Surely, Jabba didn't expect – she sought Solo's eyes, asking a silent question.

Leia strained from her position. _What is going on_ , she wondered. There was something off, something evilly dysfunctional, with how Jabba referred to the girl. Leia could sense fear from Maranya; from Han a spike of anger. Leia saw Han lower his head to speak to the girl.

"No, Maranya," he said in a low voice meant only for Maranya. "What did I tell you?"

Maranya thought. He'd had many instructions for her during their last conversation. _That you'll kill Jabba._ She looked up at him, and saw he was waiting for her to think it through.

 _That I should help_. His eyes pushed her, blazing with a message.

 _That I shall be free. Is that it?_ Every one of his muscles seemed to be tightly wound, as if urging her direction of thought.

 _That I shall never sex again_. She had it right this time, she was sure. She leaned her body away from him, letting him know she'd worked it out, and he gave her a small smile. Jabba hadn't noticed her body language. He sucked on spice and waited.

Han's heart was drumming hard in his chest. He swallowed and took measure around the room. One Gamorrean stood by him. The three others that had escorted him and Maranya in were against a buttress. Behind the throne stood two Whipid guards, along the side walls were several species of armed guests and employees, all with their weapons raised, all in the direction of Luke. To the rear were more Whipids, looking alert and ready. And behind the Whipids was a great and silently irate Wookiee, a funny green being on his shoulder.

 _Chewie!_ Han wanted to let out a loud whoop. _About time, you damn furball._

Chewie saw recognition cross Han's face. He lifted his lips slightly, giving a silent warning snarl and Han stilled his reaction. Luke unhitched his lightsaber. He kept his motions resentfully slow, putting on a show of reluctance and resistance. But his eyes still had that serene look.

Luke knew Chewie and Yoda were in the room, behind him. They had obviously slipped in as he and Leia had, with suggestive thoughts. And now they stood unnoticed by all, even Jabba. _Master Yoda_ , Luke acknowledged. _Your powers are inspiring. I vow to continue my training._

"Han," Luke said, and ignited his lightsaber.

"Yeah?" Han drawled, watching the blade. Luke gave little flicks of his wrist, as if testing the handling, and the Gamorrean by Han's side moved away.

Luke moved his eyes from Han's face to his wrist. "Don't try and fight me," he said. "You won't be able to deflect a lightsaber."

Han noticed Luke placed emphasis on the word 'deflect' and wracked his brains. It took him a few seconds to comprehend what Luke was cluing him in on.

"You sure?" Has said, beginning a secret conversation, and he brought the palm pistol into his hand. "I got some moves of my own."

Luke smiled in conspiracy. "I'm sure you do," he told Han. "Let me make this easy on you."

"Nah," Han said cordially. "Let me make it easy for _you._

 _" I got this, Luke,_ Han thought. _Don't worry._

And he dropped low, dipping his torso in a half spin, swinging his right arm wide, and shot Jabba's eye out.

As soon as he moved he heard Luke shout, "Now, Chewie!" and he heard the warrior cry of his best friend.

Han saw it like it was in slow motion. The great Hutt's body rocked back and forth, but his little arms drooped uselessly at his side. He remained in his seat, slumping unnaturally. Han fired into Jabba's other eye out and grimly noted the Hutt had two holes for eyes.

Han had always meant to kill Jabba. He had been starting to doubt that it would ever come to fruition. Now he would have liked to pause, to pay tribute to his time here, give it a moment of silence.

The room erupted into chaos.

Han decided instead he'd boast later to Chewie how true his aim had been. He dashed off to tussle with the Gamorreans near Maranya, pushing her rougly to the ground and grabbing for the vibro ax. He kept waiting for a bolt to slam into his body, but nothing happened. The whirr and hum of Luke's lightsaber was in his ears and he caught flashes of the blue blade as it swung. _Jedi?_ he wondered again. _Just how long have I been gone?_

The loss of Jabba had released the fragile thread of control he had reigned over his palace, and the reaction was a complete release of tension. There no longer was a tyrant; there no longer was a reason to rein in tempers or desires. Jabba, who had so carefully built an enterprise by feeding off the misery of others, had unleashed that misery with his death, and it reverberated and ricocheted around the room. Servants, slaves and guests ran about, some fighting for their master and others against, and still others for their own lives.

Chewie howled a victory shout and wrenched a club from a nearby Whipid. He swung it, crushing the Whipid's skull, and picked the body up and hurled it toward the guards lined on the side of the room. Chewie continued his rampage, moving with blurred speed and earsplitting noise.

Yoda had jumped off Chewie's shoulder. He closed his eyes and frowned, trying to separate the Wookiee's brutality from the rest of the savagery in the room. Chewie's violence was borne of protection and desperation. Yoda sensed another temper in the room and identified the missing pilot. He was no longer using the palm pistol, having spent the charge, and was struggling with a Gamorrean for a vibro ax. His violence stemmed from retribution and vindication, and Yoda thought to assist him briefly. His lips pressed into a frown, Yoda used the Force to bend the air. Blaster bolts meant in one direction seemed to warp and bend and be swallowed up by the sand.

In front of Yoda Luke had pushed Leia down into the sand. Now she crawled forward, grappling a blaster out of a dead guest's hand and shot Han's rival, while Luke swung his lightsaber, deflecting bolts back into the crowd.

"Get back to Chewie," he directed her. "We've got to get out of here."

"I got us transport," Han waved to Luke, showing a bloodied sleeve. "Be right back."

"Han!" Leia yelled, but he had sprinted away. She started after him. Chewie joined her, throwing up his hands in frustration and growling.

"Where is he going?" Chewie demanded. "I'll be damned if he disappears from us again."

Despite everything, Leia laughed. She couldn't help but agree with Chewie.

The noise was deafening, damage being done not just to the occupants but to the entire room itself. Torch sconces were shot out, stone tables crumbled, great gouges of sandstone cut out of the buttresses and walls. There was a lot of smoke and disarray and even the noise somehow made it hard to see. The scene had degenerated into one of complete pandemonium.


	17. Chapter 17

Darth Vader turned his head sharply to the right. The Force… someone was using the Force.

Still keeping their distance from him, his Gamorrean skiff companions kept their backs to the suns, looking bland.

 _My son…_ Whoever wielded it now did so with confidence and power. It was not directed so much at beings as it was an entire environ. Surely his son was not that powerful.

Was it the same Force print that he'd sensed at the Battle of Yavin? It was familiar to him, authoritative and remonstrating. Where did he know this presence? Vader remembered how he had sensed Obi-Wan on the Death Star. It had been a long time since he'd known the Force mark of his former master, but it had been far from forgotten. Like the smell of wet earth when one had been on the desert for a long time. The scent reaches the nose and is immediately identified, without having to think about it. This Force print was a distant memory.

But familiar nonetheless. _No_. A horror filled him. Adrenalin accelerated his heart beat, causing his mechanical lungs to adjust in turn. _A master…_

His son had the assistance of a Master! This was alarming. The Master was here, now, and despite twenty years in hiding the strength of the master was still prominently evident.

Vader recognized the Master. _Yoda_. He had escaped Palpatine somehow. Palpatine had not been able to find him, sense him even, and let it lapse.

Vader had never cared for Yoda. As a boy, he could see that Yoda had not wanted him to train with the Jedi, and as the years had passed Yoda still seemed to harbor a grudge that Obi-Wan insisted on training him. Yoda was judgmental, intolerant. Yoda had always stressed he was a danger, when he'd been a mere boy! Yoda had been right, though, hadn't he? Vader burned with resentment. But then Yoda had done nothing about him; just sat there with passive prejudice.

Vader absorbed Yoda's mastery of the Force, his surety of purpose. Vader was certain he was as strong with the Force, but his ambition was wavering. The discovery his son was living had caused him to reevaluate Palpatine's motives. Not his own; Vader's intentions had always been true. All he'd wanted was only to save his wife from death, had wanted to live as a Jedi who embraced love. He'd had true intent, yet was horribly naive. And deceived. His hands formed fists at his side. In the face of all this, was he still as powerful? Would the Force flow through him with equal power?

Vader had not met a challenger since Obi-Wan on the Death Star. He wasn't even a challenger, for that matter. Obi-Wan was not interested in a rematch of supremacy. No, he was just stalling until Luke and the Princess were safely away on the smuggler's ship. Then he offered himself as a sacrifice. Took away any satisfaction from Vader on striking him down.

The palace loomed and Vader could sense the battle within. Carnage waited for them inside and the stupid Gamorreans had no idea. He gritted his teeth, feeling such a fury. Master Yoda was back, and he would do everything he could to keep Vader from his own son. Did no one see that everything Vader had done was to keep his family together? Vader seethed with injustice. Faces swam before him, Yoda, Obi-Wan, Palpatine… faces with falsely caring eyes, faces that followed their own agendas, faces that he just wanted to smash.

It was his _right_ to have his son. They were brainwashing Luke, sure as they had duped him so thoroughly. But those sanctimonious, judgmental idiots thought they were right, thought he was evil. They never wanted him to live, they were afraid…. Sanctimonious, judgmental… they had no idea how he hated them. They had no idea how much power they gave him. He clenched his teeth, and his pulse throbbed with dark force. Gamorreans fell squealing, clutching their necks.

Vader took control of the steering. He would see to Master Yoda. And he would see to his son.

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Sand began to settle and the smoke was clearing. The violence was extinguished almost as quickly as it had begun. Blasters and clubs ceased their destruction. The dead lay scattered, still. The injured groaned and cried, but there were no more shouts, no grimaced curses. The atmosphere was one of shock, but it was soon shifting to recovery.

Han was fairly confident he knew where to go. Months of being led around the palace in shackles and information gleaned from Maranya kept his way sure, even in the dark.

He headed down first, following the incline but turning off before he got to the lower level, where the Rancor was. This area was lit with wall torches.

He found the open door and peered in. "PM 7," he called. "You in here?"

The medic bustled into view. "Ah, you." He noticed the gash on Han's forearm. "Where is your escort? Well, come in, let's have a look."

"Not today, doc. Come on up, there's worse in the Throne Room."

"Worse? What in the world happened?" "A battle." Han evaded the issue. "Jabba's dead, and there's some injured."

PM 7 stopped in his tracks. "Jabba is dead?" he asked, incredulous.

Han turned around, hearing the man had stopped following him. "Yeah." He waved his hand impatiently. "Come on, we gotta go."

PM 7 hurried after him, peppering Han with questions that went unanswered. The medic stopped in amazement at the threshold of the Throne Room, taking in the scene of the dead and injured, of the demolished furnishings. He stood with his mouth agape until his medical training kicked in. These wounds would be blunt force trauma, blasters, axes and clubs.

"Jabba usually sends wounded like these to the rancor," he commented to Han.

"Feed it the dead ones," Han said angrily. He was going through the pockets of the dead, taking credits and pocketing them in his vest.

"No, what I mean is I may not be able to treat these. I am not provided with plasma or bacta."

"Well, do what you can. Those that can should leave – they can get care in the space port."

"Jabba will not provide the means," PM 7 stubbornly.

"I told you, doc, Jabba's dead." Han gestured to the Hutt's corpse. "We're taking his means, and we'll use 'em. Skiffs, credits, whatever he's got." Han patted his vest pocket, which jangled with credit chips. Luke, Leia and Chewie hadn't just rescued him, they had liberated the entire palace. He knew that Chewie, former slave himself, would want to show the other slaves and Punisheds that someone cared for their welfare. He was certain Leia felt the same way and would see to it that they all got good medical care.

PM 7 nodded. "Alright, then. I'll bring up what supplies I have."

Han had one more person to seek out. He went around the buttress nearest the throne and found Maranya. She was sitting on the floor, crying in an odd, guttural honk. Her eyes were squeezed shut, but no tears fell. She had walled herself off in terror.

He squatted before her. "Maranya," Han said softly. She did not seem to hear him. He looked her over. There were small dried flecks of blood on her here and there, but it seemed to belong to others.

"Maranya," he repeated more firmly. "Ssh, Maranya. It's over. Stop crying. You're safe." He touched her arm lightly but he had to say her name a half dozen times before she finally started, opening her eyes. "Ssh, ssh, ssh. It's me. You're OK. It's fine, Maranya. All over. Remember what I told you?" He waited patiently for her to reconnect. Her eyes were large and terror-stricken.

She focused on the cuts on his cheek and his arm. She had been resigned to die. She was used to the sight of blood here at the palace, but it was a symbol of death. Now she was staring at a man who was bleeding, but also very alive. She watched him, waiting for him to become dead, but he kept looking at her, talking to her and speaking her name. He was not going to die. And maybe she wasn't, either.

"Talk to me, Maranya."

She gulped great breaths of air. Her eyes moved around, taking in the fractured architecture, the dead bodies. Finally they came back to him.

"Help," she finally said.

"That's right. Help. Ready to go on a skiff?" She seemed frightened by the idea. "Jabba is dead?"

Han indicated the throne. "Look at him. I'd say he is."

"I am free?"

Han nodded. "Ready?" "It's good?"

"It's the best." He helped her to stand, and now he could finally face his friends.

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Almost as soon as Leia got a glimpse of Han, he came at her full speed and grabbed her in a fierce hug. She smiled into his shirt, squeezing him back. He was real. She was reminded how his touch grounded her on the Death Star, as if he was able to gather all her wild adrenaline and fears into a tiny ball and hand it back to her for safekeeping. And he felt like he did in her dreams, warm and safe. She understood why Chewie's embraces hurt. It wasn't strength. It was emotion.

She pulled away to gauge him. "Are you hurt?"

Having used up the pistol, his role in the battle had been a bit more physical. His face was bleeding, the result of being too close to sandstone being shot out, and shrapnel dotted his cheek. His arm had a nasty slash from the vibro ax.

"I may be missing a few chunks of skin," he told her. "But I couldn't be better."

Leia opened her mouth to tell him how wonderful it was to have him back. "I've, I," she stammered, words in her head sounding hollow. Her mouth opened and closed, the start of words forming, then abandoned. She sniffed. She wanted to be able to articulate loss, desire, sorrow, hope to him. When time allowed she would tell him everything. Everything, from the symbolism of her dreams to the acceptance of the Force, to her careful maintenance of his ship.

He kissed her, grabbing her with his good arm and putting his lips to hers hard. "This is how I know to say it, Sweetheart," he said, and then Chewie and Luke pulled him from her, hugging him and slapping his back, shouting and laughing.

Leia stood there for a moment, smiling. He'd said it better than she could with that kiss.

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From a corner of the Throne Room Yoda's traveling companions were reuniting with their friend. He noted their happiness, loud and affectionate, and was glad that Luke was still young enough with the Force to be able to feel so strongly. Not for the first time he envied Luke.

They were discussing what to do with the slaves. Yoda listened as Solo pointed out that while Jabba was dead, his enterprise probably wasn't, and things would resume in the hands of a new crime lord before too long, and that if any slaves had any hope of a free life, they needed to leave now. Yoda sighed. At least the man had been worth it.

Ever the diplomat, Leia had devised a token system, taken from the bone shingles inlaid on Jabba's spice bong. She handed them out, directing them to the skiffs, which would take them to the space port, and promised them a shuttle to where the Alliance would help them if they needed or wanted assistance. It was a simple beginning to what Yoda knew to become a complex issue.

Yoda walked the perimeter of the throne room. Brutality was giving way to disbelief and cautious joy as denizens of Jabba's Palace came to confirm for themselves that the Hutt was indeed dead.

He continued to wait patiently. For he had felt Vader's imminent arrival, and he was waiting for Luke. This was Luke's destiny, after all.

It wasn't long. Luke withdrew from the happy chatter until Yoda only heard the rumbles of Chewbacca and the smuggler's answers. Luke was frowning.

"Master Yoda," Luke began.

"Sense him you do."

"Not a him, but a … a.. sense of… an anger."

Yoda nodded. "Darth Vader is here." Leia turned fearfully. "Here? Now? We have to go," she said anxiously.

"Leave we should," Yoda agreed.

"Wait, what?" Han said. "Jabba wasn't lying? The Empire's here?"

"Not just the Empire, but Darth Vader," Chewie informed him. "He is after Luke."

"Vader's after Luke?" Han exclaimed. "What the hell for?"

"It's a long story, Han," Leia fretted. She had tamped down her last confrontation with Vader and became terrified at the idea of repeating it. She tugged on his good arm. "Come on."

"Yeah," Han said slowly, eying Luke. "Let's board a skiff."

"It's too late," Luke said. "He's here."

"Luke, no!" Leia said. "We can't be captured here."

 _Father_ , Luke thought. _Tatooine. Home world. We're both home_.

"Luke," Leia urged. "Come on!"

As she tugged on his elbow he watched the sand she kicked move over his boot. _Tatooine. Sand. I've been seeing it all along._

"Leia," Luke called softly. "Help me." He called the little grains of sand to him and they began to dance merrily in a circle. Leia watched intently as a little funnel cloud formed.

She remembered her vision with Luke on Dagobah. _Storm_.

She joined his Force with hers, and the sand storm was born, whipping pellets around, a howl in the air.

"Come," Yoda gestured to Han and Chewie. Han stooped to get himself a blaster from a dead patron.

Luke and Leia followed slowly, Han taking frequent looks behind him to watch the storm in amazement. Visibility behind him was reduced to nothing. It was sand, sand in motion.

"What the hell, Chewie?" he said, but Chewie slung a hairy arm around his shoulders and steered him away. "And who's the green guy?"

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Darth Vader stood at the entrance to the Throne Room.

He was too late.

Inside, the palace was consumed by a sand storm. Already it was drifting in corners, layer upon layer settling and beginning to cover evidence of tables and benches. The storm abraded the horrors that had taken place here. The place where Jabba had decided fates with a flick of a finger was being reclaimed by the desert.

Vader felt the storm was just. He knew his son had performed this feat. And he knew his son and his friends were on the other side, escaping.

He heard his mechanical lungs inhale over the gale of the wind, and considered the strange stirring in his mind.

 _Pride_.

His son was indeed powerful. It should give him pause for their future confrontation. He should plan carefully, perhaps worry or feel threatened by this very worthy opponent. But Vader was proud.

The Hutt had sent him the code to activate the tracker implanted in the smuggler. He collected a blaster from the floor. It would be easier to disable a skiff with a blaster than it would a lightsaber.

Vader stalked back to the skiff. It was just a matter of time. The smuggler would lead him to his son.


	18. Chapter 18

Leia worked her way along the dark corridor with the others. Chewie, behind her, held a torch fire lamp high above her, and it cast an uneven, flickering light along the sandstone walls. She could see the backs of the slaves ahead of her, and caught a glimpse of Han's as well, up ahead and leading them all. His shirt was hanging off his broad shoulders and accentuated to her how much weight he had lost. Not for the first time she wondered what he had endured. He had declined a torch, as had the slaves, and they all were in front, making their way in the dark, comfortable in it.

Leia was not comfortable. The way her widened pupils fought to focus on something in the darkness was a constant reminder their way was not yet clear. She could not see past the sandstorm she had helped Luke conjure in the Throne Room, but she was sure Darth Vader was on the other side, and she was terrified he would be there to greet them when they emerged from this dark corridor, wherever it was leading them.

Luke and Yoda were ahead of her, Luke also holding a torch. He was grim, like her, both painfully aware their successful retrieval of Han was not the last encounter this desert planet was going to subject them to. Leia listened to Han's voice, filtering its way through the flickering torch light to her ears, offering murmured assurances to the slaves. She wished she could find comfort in the sound. She felt small, frightened, and sad. It puzzled her. She wasn't sure why. She should feel worry, she told herself, but also gladness. Han was back. Why did that make her sad?

The prospect of meeting Darth Vader again terrified her. She had personified in him all the reasons for the war, all the reasons she felt so empty and devoid of joy. He was injustice, he was pain, he was anguish. The Rebellion combated everything he came to symbolize in the Empire's political management, but she felt she'd already lost the personal war he'd instigated when she was his prisoner.

It wasn't just the needles, the physical pain. She was so numbed by shock and grief that she would welcome pain. But if he caused more grief, if he violated her mind and soul again, she felt she might collapse. She worried for Luke, she still worried for Han. She traipsed behind them, wondering if Luke's emotions were a-whirl like the sandstorm, wondering if the vibro ax that had opened the skin on Han's arm had also exposed their vulnerability and mortality.

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Han led them through corridors he'd traversed numerous times while in shackles. This time nothing was dragging him down and his steps were swift and light and he felt good.

Damn good.

Except there was this sense of amazement and surprise he was having trouble shaking. How the hells was he even here? How the hells was he even alive?

He walked along, his blaster in his left hand because his right was having trouble curling into a fist, sure there would be something to shoot at next corner. But there wasn't, and he continued walking, always amazed the way was clear, always waiting for the moment the sand would disappear below their feet.

It was too bad no one had shot a holo while they were shooting all those blaster bolts. He'd have liked to have seen how none hit him. Han still didn't understand how no one was injured, except for the most deserving. Jabba had called Luke a Jedi. Maybe there was something to Luke's new calmness, the green being's presence. Luke had produced one hell of a sandstorm. Maybe he could misdirect blaster bolts too. He had a lot to catch up on with them, that was for sure.

His friends were behind him. There would come time for talk, later. After they got the slaves out and after they got away.

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Han stepped outside from the small hatch in the bedrock and he gestured with his head the direction of the skiff hangar. As each emerged, they reacted the same: straightening hunched postures, blinking away darkness under the bright suns.

Now Chewie came to join him in the lead, discarding his torch on the sand, and it was like no time had passed between them. They settled into their roles, Chewie to grab supplies and Han to start up the transportation.

"See if you can find some vibro cutters, Chewie," he called and started up a skiff. "And water." The ragtag group of slaves needed their shackles removed. He noted the hangar was empty. Either the techs had joined the battle or they had fled.

Han revved the skiff engine impatiently as everyone boarded. The last to get on was Luke, who had barely swung his legs over when Han gunned it and the skiff moved out of the hangar with more acceleration than they normally were driven with.

The desert craft moved under a yellow sky in the heat of the day. Luke kept an uneasy watch. The desert was steadfast, constant. It felt like he'd never left. The air he breathed was hot, the wind ruffled his hair, and he knew, without touching it, exactly how the sand would feel if it filtered through his fingertips.

To the north lay the human settlement of moisture farmers where Luke had grown up, and the smaller port of Mos Espa. He wondered what had become of his uncle's farm. Ben Kenobi's hovel was even farther, past the Jundland Wastes. The canyons loomed to the east, where Chewie had docked the _Falcon_ and where Luke had raced his Skyhopper as a youth.

He sighed. He could see himself, now, as he was. So young, happy to just be racing, no idea of what lay ahead of him. But how could he have known? Luke would not put it past the desert to know, but he forgave it for not revealing anything. The desert was most assuredly a character in this history, and Luke thought it was a bit like the Force. The sands were always present, sculpting and shaping, but so timeless that the petty secrets of a human were just like one grain of sand out of billions.

Ben knew. His uncle probably knew, too. He almost felt deceived. But he wouldn't dwell on it. It was pointless. Ben, now one with the Force and a part of the timelessness, understood the damage and was contrite. It was time to move past, to let the Force take the reins again. Yoda, Ben, even Anakin, had acted out of fear. Perhaps it was only natural when afraid, to just hunker down and hold the danger at bay. Luke, a generation younger, felt he had the benefit of hindsight. He saw why they were afraid. But fear had won anyway. Palpatine had the galaxy. They might be alive, but it must not feel very good.

Luke was not afraid. He was not afraid of truth. He had learned the truth that the man who called himself Darth Vader also called himself his father, and it had not killed him. Nor was he afraid of death. He had seen the bodies of his aunt and uncle, brutally killed, and the least he could do was to join them. He was not afraid of Palpatine. People and governments were not like the desert. They disappeared so quickly, changed so often. Luke didn't have the benefit of hindsight when it came to Palpatine. He might fail, but someone, someday, would not fail. There was comfort in that. The Force was about balance, and right now things were skewed too far in one direction. It was inevitable the pendulum would swing back to center. Luke hoped he could be a part of that.

He scanned the sands for signs of Darth Vader. The hairs at the back of his neck were prickling, and it wasn't from sand pelleting him. Yoda's grim silence agreed with him: the Dark Lord would find them.

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They were on their way to Mos Eisley spaceport. The skiff was crowded. Leia arranged the slaves under the shade awning while Chewie moved through them, cutting shackles. It was going to be a fairly long trip; a little longer than it had taken him and Leia to walk from the canyons.

Luke sent Han, standing at the helm, an appreciative grin. Han was back in their ranks, where the Force told him he belonged. PM 7 was trying to get a look at Han's forearm. Han didn't seem to be paying the medic much mind. He was immersed in the moment, the opposite of the patient desert. He flew the skiff with exhilaration, but his eyes moved somberly from each being on the skiff. PM 7 was telling him if they didn't treat it soon, it would leave a scar. Luke perceived Han had been left scarred in other ways as well.

Everyone had undergone a change. Luke and Leia were not the same beings Han had left behind, either. They had a lot to tell him. Theirs was not a scar; it was blood, and it would flow through them the same as when had Han first met them. He hoped Han would know that.

Han had set the auto pilot and joined Chewie and the slaves. Luke heard him translating Shyriiwook for them. Chewie was recounting his own time as a slave, and explaining it was natural to feel overwhelmed or frightened.

"You must take your lives back," Chewie told them through Han. "Not just the one that beats a heart, but the one that is inside the heart."

Han looked around. "Fine time to be missing C-3PO, but Wookiee philosophy is hard to translate." Chewie went on, undeterred. "No being has the right to declare another unworthy," Han said. "That is the worst form of cruelty."

Leia listened intently, putting herself in the context of Chewie's words and wondering if she would ever heal. Alderaaniis were judged not worthy, she reflected. The scale of the Empire's conceit was something humanity had never encountered before. Yet she regarded it as her greatest failure. Alderaan was a planet, but Alderaaniis were human. She couldn't get their individual lives back, but she was fighting for humanity. How would she feel when they won the war? Her failure was always there. She hoped she would be able to take her life back.

She heard Han pause, while Chewie's rumble continued. "It's hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel when you're deep in the tunnel," Han translated, his eyes, turned green by the sunlight, met Chewie's. He nodded, simultaneously jubilant and subdued.

"Very true," he said quietly. "I actually couldn't see a damn thing in those tunnels. Literally and figuratively."

"You were arrogant to leave," Chewie remonstrated. "You have no idea of the turmoil you caused, no idea of the friends you left behind who wanted to help you."

Leia saw Han was moved. He got to his knees and gave the Wookiee an emotional hug.

"Sorry," he muttered into Chewie's fur.

"Sorry isn't going to cut it," Chewie said sternly. But he ruffled Han's hair. "We'll continue this discussion later."

Han gave a chastened smile and headed back to the helm. Leia blinked back tears. The challenge ahead overshadowed everything and she felt there were too many innocent lives in the way. She felt a sadness for Han, a mourning of something lost. She stood and joined him at the helm. His irreverent cockiness might be gone for good. While it often made dealing with him exasperating, it also made him fun. Silently she wished him to heal.

"You really should get that arm looked at," she said aloud.

"Later. I'm enjoying flying this thing. 'Sides, it stopped bleeding. You should get yourself out of the sun."

She swatted at his good arm, and he caught her by the wrist.

"Leia. Tell me what's been going on."

He hadn't used her name in her dreams. "It's a long, long, story. You disappeared, we haven't even been back to the base. Hoth was lost, by the way. Luke had a vision to go to Dagobah and find a Jedi master -"

"- that's the little green fungus over there?"

"- Master Yoda. Don't you dare call that to his face. We have some more news, that's a bit more upsetting and here's not really the best place to tell it. Oh, and the base is at Sullust now. We still have all that stuff from our last mission with you in the holds."

Now she was back to Rebel leader mode briefing him. There was a shadow behind her eyes, and he suspected the same shadow could be seen behind his.

He felt he understood Leia better. Why she came off the Death Star even more determined to fight. In his life experiences he had seen greed and injustice just wash over individual lives like they were meaningless grains of sand, and he had never lifted a finger to make a difference. But she had, even as a Princess. She was so brilliant and inspiring. He'd gone to Jabba thinking Jabba would take his money or his life; neither meant all that much to him. But Jabba had taken a lot more: chipped at his life, erasing dignity, pride, sense of self. He had no right to think anyone would lift a finger to help him, but she had, as had Luke and Chewie.

He choked up when he thought about it. He didn't think there was anything he could say that would let them know just how much it meant to him. How profound their gesture was to him. He was never very good at expressing himself.

So he pulled Leia over and enveloped her completely and kissed her deeply.

Her sadness evaporated when he pulled away. "What was that for?" she asked, smiling.

He cleared emotion from his throat. "Just saying thanks."

"Are you going to kiss Luke and Chewie too?" she teased.

"Maybe."

"You know, Chewie was really upset with you."

"Yeah. Think a kiss would make it up to him?"

She was about to answer when a shout from Luke and Yoda broke into their private conversation. The slaves sitting on the floor under the shade awning raised their faces to the commotion. Leia left Han's side and joined Luke at his lookout post.

"What is it?" Luke's face was broken in consternation. "It's Vader. He followed us."

"How could he follow us? We're just a speck in the desert. Does he feel you?"

Luke shook his head. "I've been shielding. So has Yoda."

"Told you, I did," Yoda stated. "To Vader will your friend lead you."

"How can he have done that, Master Yoda?" Luke complained.

"Yet come, does Vader." Luke felt Yoda was being ridiculous.

"Han!" he shouted. "Lay a different course. We're being followed."

Han nodded. He re-assumed control of the skiff and worked the controls to get more speed out of the craft. He veered sharply in a new direction. "Detour," he muttered to himself. He considered making for the caverns, where he was sure he could lose a follower, but the number of slaves stopped him. He couldn't fit them all on the _Falcon_. They needed to get to the spaceport.

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The coordinates of the tracker kept Vader on course. He felt he could see a speck on the horizon, but it was the presence of his son and Yoda that told him more than anything he was headed straight for them. He pushed his skiff, both mechanically and with the Force, speeding it forward.

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"I see something!" Leia exclaimed, scanning the desert with macrobinoculars. "It could be a skiff."

"Vader it is," Yoda declared.

"Could be some of Jabba's people," Han suggested. Somehow he doubted the Hutt inspired such loyalty after death, but it was possible.

"No," Yoda shook his head. "It is your doing," he told Han.

"My doing?" Han said indignantly. "I didn't even know Vader was on his way."

"Because of you, for Luke does Vader visit Tatooine."

"Now, wait a minute -" Han began to argue.

"But Vader already had my name," Luke interposed. "It doesn't have anything to do with Han's disappearance."

"Actually," PM 7 broke in. "It is because of Solo."

All eyes turned to look at the medic. "Jabba had a tracker put in you."

Han glared at the medic, his mouth open in furious disbelief. He was picturing himself waking up in the medic's infirmary, with no memory of being brought there. It was all entirely possible.

PM 7 was apologetic. "He had me do it, when you were brought to me."

"I thought you said I was going to the Pit," Han said. "Why would I need a tracker?"

"He got information about you. Maybe about your friends here? I'm not sure – I wasn't in his confidence, after all. But that's when he brought in the Empire. And he didn't want to take a chance on you getting away. I put one in," PM 7 gestured with his chin at Han's forearm, "right there, in your left forearm. Unfortunately, your good arm."

Everyone except Han looked at his arm. He held it out to the medic. "Disable it," he ordered.

"I can't. It's internal. It's under your skin."

Now Han probed his arm, rubbing with the knuckles of his right hand in a firm pressure. He shook his head, not feeling anything.

"Right there." PM 7 touched Han's inner arm. "See, some synflesh just flaked off."

"Shit," Han said, looking helplessly at Luke and Leia.

"I can remove it," PM 7 offered. "If I had a knife."

"If you had a knife?" Han asked incredulously. "Here?"

"I do," Leia said quietly. She slipped the knife out of her boot and showed it to them. The blade was serrated, the cutting area about the width of Han's thumb knuckle. He looked at her wide-eyed, his brows up. She must be really frightened, he thought, if she was offering him up for a surgical procedure in the middle of a desert while flying on a skiff.

To his own surprise he realized he was willing to do it for her. His amazement at his survival so far dissipated to his normal sense of awareness. He had been willing to sacrifice himself for Luke and Leia at Jabba's, and he found that resolution had not left him. His taste of freedom had not changed how he felt about them. He didn't want to see them lost to the Empire.

He swallowed. "OK," he allowed. "It'd just be a cut. But that's one nasty looking knife."

"Change the outcome it will not," Yoda added. Leia felt a turmoil. She looked at Han with apology. Would she do that to him? The prospect of facing Vader again was so terrifying that she was willing to do anything to put it off. But that's what it would be, just a delay tactic. And this was Han, her Han, who in her dreams had helped her be a sneaky contender against the Empire, who gave her weapons and truth, in whose arms she felt safe and protected.

And now she wanted to slice one of those arms open.

She shook herself. "It paralyzed me," she whispered. "My fear."

"No, Leia," Luke argued.

"I'm sorry," she told Han.

"No, Leia. You're not paralyzed. Look around," Luke urged. "You have everything you need to fight."

"Change the outcome it will not," Yoda repeated.

Leia moved to Han and touched his arm like she had in her dreams, to ground her, collect her. She touched it the same place PM 7 had. Luke was right. She had everything she needed. Before, against Vader, she'd been alone and unwittingly used the Force and survived. Now, she knew to use it. She would wield it beside her brother, beside a Master, beside Han, who had revealed so much to her. _A bit of Vader in you._

She smiled at Luke. "I'm alright, Luke. You're right. I'll fight Vader with Vader."

He smiled back, understanding. "No secrets."

"So, I'm fine?" Han asked. His eyes flicked from Leia to Luke and back again. He had no idea what they were talking about but it was more important right now to worry about Vader. "What do we do about the tracker?" He was more than a little relieved to not go under the knife right now.

Luke shook his head. "Nothing, at the moment. Nothing that would make any difference. We'll disable it later. Just fly this thing. Fly it fast. Get us to the space port."

"OK," Han shook his head dubiously and moved to tinker with the controls again. "But we've got more weight than that one does," he gestured out the desert to where a moving speck was visible to the naked eye. "It's gonna be close."

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They were in his sights now. He was going to overtake them. Vader accessed the Force, but it would not reveal his destiny. Master Yoda would have to be dealt with. Would he take his son? Would his son go with him, willingly, to the Emperor? He did not wish to kill his son. Nor did he wish to die.

Vader stared out into the sea of sand. There was a reason he was not seeing his destiny. He wanted to take his son. That was the truth. But not to the Emperor. _Well, Force,_ he asked it, _what do you think of me taking the Emperor?_

He could hear the whine of the other skiff's motors and he grunted with appreciation. The pilot knew engines. No matter. Vader knew engines, too. And with all the life forms weighing that craft down, there was no way the pilot could outstrip this skiff.

Vader picked up the blaster and steadied his aim with the Force. He knew how to bring down the skiff, and how to bring down his son.

He fired.


	19. Chapter 19

They were tense. Vader's skiff was gaining ground, and though it was still a fair distance away, the figure cloaked in black was easily recognizable.

Han, as skiff pilot, was doing all he could to hold Vader at bay. The engines of the skiff whined as he pushed for maximum performance and he steered the craft windward.

The skyline remained a flat horizon of sand and sky. They were not yet close to the space port. Han was glad he'd taken the time to arm himself, and he felt assured that Luke and the Yoda being were alert and focused with their lightsabers, but he still felt that their craft was vulnerable in the open air with no chance of cover.

Leia had the slaves and PM 7 gather aft, under the shade awning. Hopefully the helm blocked Vader's view of them and the awning cloaked them in darkness. She stood with them. They had no idea why they should be frightened but had picked up on the anxiety of Leia and Luke, and she hoped her presence would reassure them.

Yoda held his lightsaber at ready access but had not activated it. Yoda was calm. Twenty years had passed since he was an active Jedi. He had failed to bring Palpatine down that last fateful night before fleeing for Dagobah.

It had all been very clear cut to Yoda. Palpatine was wrong, Dark; Yoda fought for right and the Light. He had been confident he and the Force, as his ally, would defeat Palpatine. But he had failed. The Force had betrayed him. He had not been strong enough. How could he not be strong enough when one had the Force at one's side? Light should conquer Dark. That is how he was raised to believe.

But he saw more clearly now. Things weren't so definitively right or wrong, dark or light. The Force had been waiting; he saw that now. Waiting for Luke, and for his sister. The Force was again his ally, but Luke had taught him the true meaning of the Force. Luke Skywalker had been as much a teacher as a student. Luke had shown him there was good because there was bad. One couldn't exist without the other.

While Yoda reflected on properties of the Force, Luke stood beside him, trying to calm his thoughts. Watching Vader's skiff was similar to sitting in his X-Wing, flying towards the Death Star and waiting, just waiting for the battle to begin. There was a sense of quiet, quiet before the storm, when all of a sudden an unleashing of Hell would be upon them and you wouldn't even know your moment of death. He had a heightened awareness of life, of his heart beat, of his senses.

This man that he would engage soon – this man's blood flowed in his veins. He might have loved this man. There was so much about this man he wanted to know, so much he wanted the man to know of him. Instead of learning, recognizing, they would aim to kill each other. It was at odds with his character, and he breathed deeply, steeling himself. _This is the way it's got to be_ , he told himself.

Chewie made his way to the helm. He had seen Vader raise a blaster and was going to suggest Han switch places with him, as a Wookiee's hand could not hold a blaster.

Suddenly there came a sharp bolt of sound and the skiff rocked violently. Leia was thrown to the ground, landing hard on her elbow.

 _Blaster shot_ , she thought. _I hope Vader didn't shoot the engines_.

The skiff remained dangerously tilted. The slaves cried out, many of them rolling sideways, tumbling toward the edge of the skiff where it heeled and tipped dangerously towards the sand. They scrabbled for purchase, reaching out for each other and trying to stay on board.

Leia, struggling to right herself, heard Chewie shout in alarm.

"Come on, Han!" she yelled, busy reaching out a hand to a slave. "Set us straight!" She looked to the helm to see how he was faring with the steering.

Han was slumped over it, his body half supported by the steering unit.

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Yoda tore his eyes from Vader to see what was happening. Luke and Leia were yelling, rushing to the helm, and Chewbacca was lowering the pilot to the deck of the skiff. No one was steering and Vader neared.

"Han,"Leia said. Her teeth started chattering. Vader hadn't taken the skiff out; he'd taken their pilot out. There was a blaster wound in Han's chest, the hole bleeding freely.

Yoda fingered his lightsaber. This had been a most unorthodox move. Yoda furrowed his brow. Clearly Vader felt outnumbered. Why hadn't he used the Force? He could have disabled the skiff with the blaster, or used the Force to accomplish the same aim. Why had he targeted the pilot? Yoda was sure shooting Solo was deliberate. What was he trying to accomplish? Surely Solo was no threat in Vader's presumed takeover. The man was not Force sensitive and did not wield the inherent danger Luke or even Leia posed to Vader. What was Solo to Vader?

And then Yoda understood. Solo was close to Luke. If Solo died, Luke would be devastated. He would be angry with Vader; he would outraged at his, and Yoda's, perceived powerlessness; he would feel betrayed by the Force. He would want revenge. He would turn to the Dark Side.

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Han arched his back and hissed. "S'hot," he winced.

_"Don't move," Leia ordered._

He heard her, but she sounded far away. "The deck," Han said. He knew something was terribly wrong, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it. Something wrong with the skiff, or maybe him. All he knew was that his back was getting seared on the hot wooden floor. He was under full suns, unable to open his eyes. He squirmed, fighting for relief, as Luke and Leia commanded him to be still.

 _"Medic!" Luke called. "Get over here! We need you. Chewie, take the helm! We can't let Vader board._ "

There was a silence, just the wind as the skiff flew through the air. That was the silent noise he remembered just moments ago, as he steered them away from Jabba's palace. He'd been enjoying the sensations, the wind and quiet. He still heard it. A hum. But there was also noise; shouting, crying. Somehow Han experienced them separately, one and then the other. If he listened for the noise he could find it. It had nothing to do with the wind and Han couldn't figure out where the noise came from.

_Why isn't he getting closer? What's he waiting for? Why the hells did he shoot him?_

"I'm burning," he finally managed to gasp.

_"It's the sun," a quiet voice advised them._

_"Bring the shade cloth over here,"_ he heard Leia snap. The other voice he knew, vaguely… Maranya. That's who. He congratulated himself. His eyes were closed, and the only time he'd heard her voice had been in the dark, so it was like he was back in the cell with her. Involuntarily, his leg gave a kick.

_Master Yoda, did you know this? When you said he'd lead Vader did you see this, too?_

Leia barked more orders. Han relaxed in affection for her. "Leia," he whispered. This was how he knew her, how he loved her.

Leia gripped the waist of Han's shirt, clutching it in her fist, staring at the tan skin she exposed that had no blood on it; watching in fascination as the medic's probing fingers became coated in blood. Han said her name, and with trepidation her eyes left the medic's hands and went to his face. He looked like he was smiling, not grimacing.

_Why did he do that? His fight is with us, not with him. Why did he do that?_

"Ssh, Han. You're going to be fine. I know the deck is hot, I'm sorry, I didn't think of it." Funny how he felt that more than the blaster wound. She had felt the searing heat of the wood as well, burning through her pants onto her shins as she knelt by him. His wound took up all her thoughts, and she had discounted the heat and hadn't thought he would feel it too.

 _"You're going to be fine,"_ she repeated, like she was talking from another room.

"Come back," he whispered.

_We've got to do something! We can't just sit here and wait while he, while he -Can't you help him?_

"Let me find something to use as a bandage," the medic said, his soft voice breaking into the dialog she only wanted to share with Han. He stood, but had instruction for Leia. "Keep your hands here, apply pressure."

Her palms slid in the slick wet of his bloody shirt. She pushed, grimacing at the gore and trying to be gentle and firm at the same time.

_Let me go! Let's both just jump on his and end this -_

"What happened?" Han asked. He sensed a shadow over his face and felt an immediate relief in the temperature. He risked opening his eyes, found Leia's. _Why so worried, Sweetheart?_

 _"You got shot,"_ she told him. So far away, her voice was so far.

He lunged his head forward, wanting to stand. "Lemme up."

 _"No. No. Lie still."_ Her hand was on his shoulder, tremulously pushing him down, but her voice came clear and bossy. _Vader_ , Luke had said.

The medic returned. "Use this," he proffered a dirty headdress of one of the slaves. Leia looked up at him in disbelief.

"Vader," Han repeated to himself. He winced, wondering where the pain came from. Hands were on him, pushing. It was hard to breathe. He lifted his own hand, vainly trying to push them off, but didn't even come close.

"Yes, Vader." She had started shaking, more than he was. _"Ssh, lie still. Don't. Don't. You're fine, Han. You're fine."_

"Bastard shot me?"

Leia huffed a laugh; she couldn't help it. "Yes." A relief washed over her; he was with her, he was talking with her.

"S'not fair," he rasped.

_-you knew, didn't you? All this time and you never lifted a finger. You think he's as worthless as Vader, well he's not, he's our friend and I won't let this -_

"I don't know your name," PM 7 said, touching Leia's wrist.

She started, thinking what an odd thing to say at this time. _Introductions, now?_

"Leia. My name is Leia."

"Leia. I, um. I can't do much. He needs a 'center. It's critical. I'm not sure he'll even last to the port."

 _No_. "Han, stay with me. Wake up." She slapped his cheeks gently. He responded, his eyes gray and confused under the awning.

_I don't feel the Dark Side. I'm angry! I have a right to be angry. I'm angry -_

_"Chewie,"_ her voice was commanding again, commanding his attention. He watched her speak, her eyes looking elsewhere. _Chewie,_ he thought with regret. Saw the tendons in her neck, the creamy skin. _"The canyons."_ "Beautiful," he whispered. _"Turn around, get to the Falcon. It's quicker – he needs the supplies."_

"Beautiful," he told her.

Leia had no idea what Han was thinking. "Ssh," she told him. "It's not beautiful. It's hot and dry and sandy and murderous and dangerous _and you shouldn't have gone you shouldn't have left us and if he takes you I don't know what I'll do and -"_

"I love you," they said at the same time. His came out as a whisper and hers as a sob but they heard each other.

_I'm going to kill him! I'll kill him. What does he think, that no one matters except what he wants? He just dispenses with lives!_

Chewie banked the skiff as he laid in a new course. Leia felt the body of the craft turn underneath her. She looked up. The medic was measuring Han's pulse. The girl, the one Jabba had called the Sexer and who had clued her in on the painful sunshine was also helplessly squatted by Han. She was looking at Leia, though. And the slaves were watching the drama unfold as well. Yoda and Luke were arguing in the background. The sudden and violent act had charged the atmosphere with tragedy and pathos.

Leia wanted everyone to go away, to just stop watching. If they weren't helping then they shouldn't be watching. _Rubberneckers,_ she wanted to hurl at them.

Now his eyes were the brightest green she'd ever seen them be. How did they do that? As she watched him struggle to breathe she wondered if this was the real color of his eyes, if his soul was so complicated it made the green a murky hazel, combined brown with gray with gold. "Han," she said sternly. "Stay with me."

_I want my father to know!_

_"Han. Breathe. Come on, that's it. I need you to listen to me."_ Like from another place….her voice, murmured from the clouds.

_"Feel me touch you? That's it. Stay with me. Breathe. Han."_

His eyes open, the shade of the awning all he could see. The silence of the air. So silent. Peaceful. Shade. Where was she? Where did she go? "Le -" There she was. _No, Sweetheart_. Tears. "No, Swe-" Air. No air. No pain. Black. Leia. Wait. Wait. Leia. All I need. Leia. Just wait. Wa-

"Han," Leia implored. She grabbed his collar that surrounded his wound. "Han," she whimpered. Her eyes raised to the medic's, full of pleading, hoping against hope.

"He stopped breathing," PM 7 said. "There's still a pulse, though."

"What do I do?" she shrieked. "Put your breath in him," he directed. "Keep oxygen circulating through his system."

She didn't even have to think. She rose on her knees, swung her leg over Han's hips and straddled him. Gently she put a hand to his forehead, keeping his head back and feeling how soft his hair was. She put her mouth to his and exhaled into his.

"No compressions," PM 7 said. "Too much trauma as it is. Keep that up until we get where we're going. You say you have medical supplies aboard your ship?" he asked.

She didn't lift her mouth from Han's, but answered the medic with a nod. She found a rhythm. _Breathe out, breathe in_. She would gently breathe into his mouth, and place her cheek over his lips, waiting to feel his soft breath while she inhaled, filling her lungs for him. _One breath out; one breath in. Come on, Han. Breathe._

Luke stood over her, eyes bleak. _The way it's got to be_ , he thought. He was ready. His own father had prepared him.

He could see Vader on the second skiff, keeping the same distance. He was not trying to catch up or board them. _Keeping a respectful distance,_ Luke said to himself, but then he snorted. Vader lacked respect. But it was obvious he was escorting them to their destination.

Nearby, Maranya watched in silence. The blood did not disturb her. She, along with all the slaves and the medic, had seen great quantities leave bodies at Jabba's palace. Solo lay on his back, the woman covering his face with her mouth and hand, his eyes open and unseeing. His still form garnered no reaction from Maranya. She had seen plenty like it before. But she found herself greatly affected by the woman tending to Solo. She was refusing to allow him to die. No one in the palace had ever reacted so. The woman was ….frightened, Maranya thought. Frightened for herself, more than for Solo.

The woman straddled Solo's body as Maranya had done when they shared a cell. In that position, Maranya had taken something from him each night. The woman was not taking anything. She was offering her own life's breath to him.

Maranya covered her mouth with her palm. She felt like an intruder. It was a private moment, a poignant moment. She lacked the vocabulary to express it, even to herself. But like the desert horizon of gold and blue, she knew she was seeing something beautiful. She had not seen the desert's beauty in six years. She had never seen a person be beautiful to another. She started to cry.


	20. Chapter 20

The skiff sailed on. It had seemed so gentle, like a haven. The hum of the engine in their ears was freedom; the rush of the wind was exhilaration. It had soothed, endorsed patience. Now everything about it had been a lie. The creak of wood was betrayal; the flapping of the shade awning was jeering irony. The passengers could not be patient, and yet Chewie could not make the skiff fly any faster.

He navigated the canyons, constantly rethinking himself. The bulk of the skiff meant the narrow paths he and Yoda had slipped through would be impassable, and he frantically searched for the quickest and most direct route back to the _Falcon_.

If he looked straight ahead he could see the Princess hunched over Han. With a steady desperation she continued her attempts at resuscitation. If he looked behind him he saw the silhouette of Darth Vader on the second skiff, waiting patiently for them to stop running.

Saving Han meant they would have to stop running. Chewie feared they might run out of time anyway. And he knew there was no getting away from Vader.

The hour had grown late and the twin suns were lower in the sky, casting long shadows of the craft along the canyon walls. The wind was stilled, the heat changing to a fragile warmth.

The skiff sailed in a queer sort of limbo. There was an air of expectation. While they sailed nothing would change. Everyone knew it would have to stop, and when it did, things would come to conclusion. The Jedi would either fight or make peace; the smuggler would either live or die.

The journey was nothing like what Luke was experiencing. His inner sense was full of dismay, horror, anger and sorrow. He wanted to be physical; to attack, to rail; anything to spend this extra distress inside him.

But Yoda held him firmly to the railing with surprising intensity.

"Process it," Yoda warned. Luke tried to shove him away. "There's nothing to process," Luke snarled. It was Yoda's favorite phrase. Every time Luke made a discovery Yoda's advice was to process it. Stop, think, learn.

"Act now, you cannot." "He needs to be stopped!" Luke's voice broke, high and harsh to his own ears. He shot Han… he shot Han. If no one put a stop to Vader, more victims would pile up. He pictured Leia, still and lifeless. "He needs to be stopped," Luke said again, and this time he meant everything: the past, present and future. The war and all the reasons for it.

This was his Alderaan. While the scale of lives lost was nothing compared to what Leia had witnessed, the emotional resonance crippled him. He finally realized the demons Leia grappled with. She had watched the planet explode. She continued to blame herself. But it wasn't just the lives lost, the guilt in thinking she was responsible, that stopped her cold. It was the Empire's actions. The casualness, the disinterest; that's what had dropped her to her knees. They had stood, humans all, on the bridge of the Death Star that day, and one human had separated himself from a billion others, and blown them to smithereens. And not even given it a thought. It damaged every single soul on the bridge that day. Each life was tainted with the knowledge of what evil could be, what evil could do. And once it was done, it could be done again. And by anyone of those witnesses.

Vader had come for Luke. And with the same detachment, the same dispassion, Vader had shot Han. Just to get to Luke. Han's life meant nothing to Vader. He was just a pawn. Expendable.

Luke's thoughts ran in a circle. Yoda urged calm and reason. He would breathe deep, and think, _it was a ploy_. Don't let Vader get to you, physically or emotionally. Then he would think _but he shot Han_ and his chest swelled with fury and outrage. The last thought to connect his process was _Han will die because of me,_ and then he would deflate. _Everyone here, because of me_.

Luke looked around. One of the slaves had collected the blaster Han was carrying. He held it up, ready to fire, but looked with wide eyes between Yoda, Luke and Chewie, as if waiting for permission.

They were waiting for Han, Luke realized. As if his life held a power over theirs. While he lived they wouldn't take arms. If he died the spell would be broken.

Luke saw how important Han's life was to them all right now, even Vader's. While Han lived, there existed a grace period. An indistinct grayness where resolve blurred in between wrong and right. An infinite time that begged not for justice but reprieve.

Right now Han was victim. If he died he would become judge and jury. This was a period outside of laws. A victim held the power to accuse and the power to forgive.

If Han died justice would need to be served.

Luke only hoped Vader could be defeated. His inner turmoil made him feel very uncertain.

Behind them Vader's cape billowed in the wind. He looked immobile and unmovable. Ahead of them loomed the _Millennium Falcon_.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Chewie jumped off the skiff before it came to a complete stop. He ran across the sand toward the ship and under the hull and unlocked the ramp to the ship. As it descended, he ran back and leaped over the skiff railing. He knelt by Leia, who was still administering first aid to Han.

Chewie had been the cautious voice, reminding them over and over that Jabba was not a merciful being and each had to be prepared to find Han dead or at least in poor condition. But when they had found him, and certainly he had suffered, yet he had been so Han, it had made Chewie so happy to see him. Then this, this arbitrary assassination, hit Chewie hard.

"Stop," he told her gently. "We're here. I'll bring him to the medbay." Chewie spoke to the medic, "You – go on ahead. Start to prep."

The medic looked frightened. He scuttled away, waving his hands.

"Please," PM 7 replied. "I don't know what you are saying." He saw that Chewie was gentle with Leia, but the medic had learned non-human behavior at Jabba's, and it was never gentle. The Wookiee's sharp teeth and growling language were frightening.

"Princess," Chewie said. "Time to let go."

Leia lifted her face from Han's. She shook her head, eyes dull and wide from shock. "I can't. I can't, Chewie. He'll die."

"No. At least not because you stopped," Chewie granted. "He needs more than love right now."

"But -"

"Princess, let me take him." Chewie turned to the medic again, his tone impatient in Shyriiwook and terrifying the medic.

"Leia, what is he saying to me?" PM 7 quailed.

"He says go on board," Leia answered mechanically. She rose and exited the skiff the closest way to the _Falcon_.

It was out of her hands now, she thought. She glanced down at her hands. Han's blood was caking quickly on them in the dry air. She saw her leggings were also bloodied, by the knees. She rubbed her hands on her leggings absently.

She was torn. Han was inside; Luke out. One fighting for his life, a life she wanted to share. The other fighting for the lives of the galaxy, a fight she had taken up long before Luke.

C-3PO was at the top of the hatch. The _Falcon's_ instruments had alerted him to their arrival. He was ready to welcome them back with a prepared speech, congratulating them on the swift recovery of their captain, but the sight of Chewie carrying a bloodied Captain Solo aboard stopped him.

"Not a word," Leia told him bitterly, showing her palm. "We need the cargo bays opened, the crates with medical supplies. That man," she indicated PM 7, "is a medic. Get whatever he needs, help him with whatever needs to be done. Understood?"

"Yes, Mistress. But may I ask, where is Master Luke?"

Leia closed her eyes and leaned on the doorway. She heard Chewie, calling instructions to PM 7 who remained uncomprehending. She heard a crowbar wrenching open a crate, the crinkly sound of packaging torn open. Exhaustion barely made her answer audible.

"Out there, with Vader."

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Luke was overcome with relief when he saw the _Falcon_. _One way or the other, he thought, it'll be over. Han and me._

He watched Chewie hurry towards the ship, carefully carrying Han. The Corellian's hand dangled from Chewie's clutches, and it bounced with Chewie's quick movements.

 _Like he's waving to me_ , Luke observed to himself. All that they'd been through flashed through his mind. Han was many things to Luke; rival, teammate, bad influence. The last time they'd been in a life and death situation it had been Han bending over Luke in the _Falcon's_ med bay. Han had slammed tubes and bandages down roughly, slammed cabinet doors, and wouldn't look Luke in the eye, but he had tended to him.

Luke pictured the mischief in Han's eyes, the soul within, and thought _what a waste. I'm sorry Han._ Han was like his brother. His family. And his father had cut him down. He felt a powerful regret. And the idea of family became so disillusioning.

"Time you had," Yoda broke into his thoughts. "Time you had, during training, to think."

Luke looked at him. He nodded slowly. He wasn't thinking now.

"Time now, you have not."

"I can't think," Luke told him. "All I have is feelings."

Yoda understood. "Use these feelings, Vader will. Feed the Dark Side, some do."

"But I don't feel the Dark Side, Master Yoda." The green being looked dubious and Luke persisted. "I don't. I won't say I'm not upset. Alderaan, the war, that was Vader. I can separate that. I feel the Force, I know how to judge him for that. The genocide; he'll pay. And the Force will help us make him pay. If not today, then some day. Some day. I know it. And if it doesn't happen today, I will wait. Because I'm certain. Do you feel that too, Master Yoda?"

Yoda was awed by Luke. "Wise, are you. How you became so, I know not. But wise are you."

"But what he did, just now. I want to get on my knees and throw up."

"Different how, is this?" There was a quiet forcefulness in Yoda's voice that reminded Luke to remember just how much was at stake.

"I keep thinking, _that's my father_. The one that shot Han. It's so… personal."

"Mmm. But not of the self, acts a Jedi. Understanding of that you must have." Yoda gestured with his walking stick to Vader's skiff. "Always your father was he, when committed these crimes he did. This one life, those millions. No difference."

"I loved my father, before I knew him. Before I knew who he was. And now I know who he is, and when I think of him….it makes me sick." Luke stopped, his elbows on the railing, staring across the desert at Vader. "I hate my father. He doesn't love me. He's going to use me. And because of that he stomps on everything I care about." Luke straightened, and gripped the railing until the whites of his knuckles showed. "And I want to kill him. Because he doesn't love me. It makes me so angry."

Something flashed in his mind, so quick, so fleetingly, that it made him pause, questioning himself. Han.

Had Yoda done this? Luke had a vision: He was Han, and Han was him; the tables turned. Luke was the one on the deck, struggling in a pool of blood and Han was angry, inflamed, reactionary. Jumping on Vader's skiff.

That's who Han was, Luke thought. His style was impulsive, instinctive. He simply reacted; reacted to whatever he was feeling at the moment.

But facing Vader was like bouncing off a durosteel wall. Your own emotions bounced back at you, cutting you down. One could not face Vader with emotional reaction. That was the source of the Dark Side, fueled by hate and fear and anger. No, one could not bring Vader down because they hated him. Han would lose that battle.

Vader had already been responsible for so many deaths. Why should Luke wait for one more? How did Han's life mean a difference? And Luke thought he knew. Because there was a chance of reaching Vader. Getting him to acknowledge his wrongs, bring him to remorse.

Alright, Luke thought, and forced himself to calm down. If he didn't want to lose to Vader then he needed to take a different approach. He could see the tendrils of the Force still, leading from him to Han, but now they radiated from Han in ever-expanding concentric circles. Ripples of the Force.

Luke understood. Redemption. Vader could not be redeemed. Could Anakin Skywalker?

"The power have you," Yoda said. "Achieve this alone you can. But by your side will I fight."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Unwavering, Vader watched Luke move toward him.

 _His son_.

Not a holo, but in the flesh. Full of life and passion and feeling. Racing toward him, full of retribution, his blue eyes glinting in the shadows of the canyon. Slender, hair too long, confident. What a thrill to see him.

Vader searched for a resemblance, either to him or Padme. He could barely remember what his own person had looked like. But it did not matter – this was unequivocally his son.

Vader let his own red-bladed saber stay at his belt. He regarded Luke with curiosity. When he'd learned of his impending fatherhood, he would imagine himself as a parent. As he patrolled the galaxy as a Jedi, he had watched other beings in parental roles, and fantasized how he and Padme would be.

When their child got too tired or too hungry, would they scoop him up with gentle words and carry them to a bed or dining room? When the child's mouth was turned down in anger or sadness, how would he coax a smile out again? Would they ever lose patience with their child, swat at a bottom, snap harsh words without thinking?

He used to watch children, and dream about his own. Children were charming, and simple, and fun. He couldn't wait until his was born.

Vader no longer liked children. He had lost his.

Luke was grown now. His half-brother Owen was the one who wiped tears, gave hugs, disciplined and loved. Vader seethed with resentment.

Vader amended his earlier thought. He had not lost his son; his son had been stolen from him. He clenched his fist, feeling the Dark Side of the Force nudge at him. _No_ , he told it. _Not now_.

Why had Vader believed Palpatine when he said Padme and his unborn child were dead? He'd trusted Palpatine implicitly, at first. Believed that Palpatine had his best interests at heart, wanted him to achieve greatness.

There would be no greatness for Vader. Palpatine had taken advantage of Darth Vader's fear and passion and used it for his own purposes in gaining personal control of the galaxy. Vader served Palpatine now, that was all. He was alone. His passion had ebbed.

His son was beautiful. But Vader moved from the physical sight of his son to assessing his emotional state. Palpatine wanted Luke for himself, an apprentice of the Dark Side. Vader was to use Luke's anger and desire for revenge to turn him to the Dark side.

Vader didn't find what he was looking for. He turned his head, as if gauging him from another angle would show him what he was seeking. His son was upset, extremely so. But his lightsaber, a _Skywalker's_ lightsaber, no less, was not poised in striking position. Emotions swirled around him.

Where was the fury? Where was the need to cause pain? Where was the thirst for revenge, the desire to take a life for a life? They were absent. Vader was thunderstruck. In their place was sadness, betrayal, disappointment. _Disappointment?_ He hadn't expected that at all.

No matter. He was of the Dark. Vader lazily raised a hand and Luke flew against the canyon wall, his breath knocked out of him. His chest heaved and he glared at Vader.

Vader was pleased at his son's ferocious stare. Perhaps it would be easy to turn him. The boy wore his emotions on his sleeve. Vader took several steps. "I have been looking forward to meeting you," he said.

Luke gulped air, unable to speak. He eyed Vader warily, disappointed to be struck down this easily.

"I sense your Master.," Vader said. "He does not trust you to face me alone."

"Him, I trust," Yoda announced himself. He used his walking stick, but his steps were sure and rapid. "It is you we trust not." He turned to Luke. "See, do you, twist your feelings he will."

"Master Yoda," Vader's voice was filled with venom. "You never were much help to me. I doubt you will be of help to the boy."

"Trust the Force, I told you," Yoda countered evenly, with no trace of nervousness. "Failed yourself, you did. Trust the Force does the boy. All the difference that is."

Luke watched from the canyon wall as Vader and Yoda circled each other. Luke was struck by the change in Yoda. He no longer carried the weight of centuries of life but exemplified vigor and strength.

"For long years now, in solitude and sorrow have I lived," Yoda was saying, and it took Luke a moment to realize Yoda wasn't talking to him. "Not so different, we are."

Vader took a step forward. "The Emperor knows."

"Told you, he did?"

Vader did not answer. "For his abilities, does the Emperor want Luke." Yoda held up his stick and pointed it at Vader "Leaves you, where, does it?"

Vader maintained his silence.

Yoda nodded. "Know, you do. Need you not, if Luke he has."

"He would have Luke kill me," Vader admitted. "To complete his turn to the Dark Side."

"I won't turn," Luke stated, getting up to join them. They formed a triangle, Luke and Yoda joined at the base, Vader the pinnacle. Among the three Luke watched in fascination as the Force ripples lazily swirled in and out, around and around.

Vader rotated their connection once more. Now he and Luke formed the base while Yoda was at the tip of the triangle. "There is much you have yet to learn." He found he believed Luke, though. The Emperor was not going to get his prize, at least not by Luke voluntarily. Palpatine would now expect Vader to deliver him as a prisoner.

"Father," Luke said quietly, causing Vader to stand stock still.

"How do you know this," Vader said, his voice so low Luke barely heard it. Age-old betrayal resurfaced. "How do you know this?" he roared. Luke had stolen his trump card. This was to be his Vader's revelation, the way he would turn Luke to the Dark Side. What was Luke hoping to gain by using it?

"Perhaps there is much you have to learn." Luke kept his voice quiet and steady. His heart was thumping. It had hurt to say the word, to commit to the idea of it.

Vader struggled with himself. He had only recently learned of his son. Palpatine had always known, known since the child's birth, and kept it from him. Twenty years he had held that knowledge. And now obviously Yoda had known. Probably Obi-Wan too. His own son! Everyone plotting to keep him from him. And the Dark Side of the Force had never indicated it to him during meditations.

Betrayal, anger, deception, duplicity….his son's disappointment…. _his own son_ found his father lacking, failing….his own son did not want his father, when he wanted his son so much. Visions of family dissipated in his mind. They betrayed him, they were treacherous two-faced beings, they would pay, he would crush them, enjoy the sight of life leaving their eyes, he hated them.

"Master Yoda, watch out!" Luke called and they both rolled from their position as giant boulders of the canyon wall hurtled toward them.

_False lying deceiving scheming how he hated them all crushing dominating bitter victory he would show them never no one never a secret again never no one ever dead they would all be dead, right he was right, only he, bash the Emperor's conniving face never feel that disappointment again._

Rock after rock barreled at them but Luke activating his lightsaber, swatting at boulders and disintegrating them. _How do I reach him?_ he thought desperately. _He's destroying the canyons_. Luke watched a canyon wall crumble, and he felt a strange empathy for the resolute timelessness of the desert.

 _Our home world_."Father, please!" he shouted. He dashed out from his cover, his lightsaber blue with indignation.

 


	21. Chapter 21

_It's like Raiderball,_ Luke thought, thinking back to his school days here on Tatooine. He had a recreational education coach at school who creatively developed games for the students to develop hand-eye coordination and to encourage growing muscles.

Raiderball was adapted from Tusken Raider culture. The teams had long poles which had a wide area for hitting and which ended in a mesh net to catch a heavy ball. Four players held the position of Raider, and their job was to steal the ball from the other team and bring it to the end of their own playing field. Four others provided defense, keeping the opposite team away from the ball. Two additional team members were the Banthas, who stayed at each end zone and protected their territory with their thick padding. They did not carry the poles but were allowed to use their hands.

He had enjoyed the game. They played it indoors so they could run without suffering heat exhaustion, but the floor was sand. He liked the mental cunning, the physical test of his limitations. Not unlike what the Force asked of him, he realized.

But this was not a game. He was neither Raider nor Bantha, but merely trying to deflect the endless boulders Vader rained down on him and Yoda.

Vader's lightsaber was still hitched to his belt. He stood still in the desert while his destructive fury transformed the landscape. Luke and Yoda used their lightsabers to bat boulders away.

"Master Yoda," Luke shouted. It was impossible to form a strategy. The noise of chunks of earth and stone being torn away from canyon walls that had taken thousands of years to form was deafening. He and Yoda were having trouble getting to each other.

Deflecting the boulders wasn't difficult. Neither Yoda nor Luke had yet to suffer an injury, besides the dust of sand getting in their eyes and crumbles of rock falling around them.

Luke wondered how long Vader could continue in this vein. Certainly Luke could swat boulders all day, but it was frustratingly unproductive.

It was odd, to enter the fight of his life and yet not feel danger. He could sense Vader's fury. It was pure and crystal clear, like a spring he had discovered on one of the Rebellions' earlier bases. But this fury wasn't directed at Luke.

Vader seemed to have forgotten that Luke and Yoda were there. His anger came from inward, from a history of hurt, loneliness and deception.

Luke edged his way over to Yoda slowly. Although Vader couldn't see him, his Force sense seemed to locate Luke and he had to keep a watchful eye out for hurled boulders.

"Is this it?" Luke couldn't help but ask his master. Anticipation had built up his fight with Vader as a terrifying event. While potentially dangerous, there was a definite lack of terror. "What are we doing?"

"With himself, Vader fights," Yoda answered. "Know his son lives, only recently had he learned. From his master."

"Emperor Palpatine?" Luke slashed at a boulder aimed right for him and felt the dust settle in his hair.

"Directed at him is his anger."

"Too bad Palpatine's not here right now," Luke said. "He could kill him for us."

Yoda nodded. "Believe now that is his intention."

"Really?"

Yoda nodded again, artfully spinning and striking a large rock back-handed. "Feel you him? Only his son, Vader wants. Carefully, we must handle this."

Yoda felt a clarity, something he had not felt in a long time, since before Palpatine's ascension to power. Any lingering doubts and fears crumbled with the canyons. With Luke here now, the son of Anakin Skywalker, the uncertainty of the past decades was erased.

As Yoda had watched the galaxy fall to Palpatine, he thought he'd been helpless. Thought he had lost. But Luke had shown him the error in his thinking; he hadn't been helpless. He had been wrong to wait. He had been afraid to do more than wait. The Force was not passive, but he had been. He should have acted, long ago. He saw the Force in him now, awakened and alive, rippling like heat waves. It danced happily from Luke to Vader and back to Yoda. His term of lethargy had ended. He knew now what he had not known twenty years ago. That one must act. No matter the result, win or lose, one must act.

"He doesn't want to hurt me?" Luke asked. Deep down, he agreed with Yoda. Vader was a solitary figure, battling inner demons.

"Think not, I do. Anger with me, will he have. If wish to end this we do, step out and reveal myself I must."

"What will that do?" "To the here and now bring the fight. Reach him we must. Begin with anger, the easiest way."

"Or love? Does he love?" The idea his father had harbored a desire for him - not his abilities - was enthralling.

"Risky that is. Sees the perceived evildoers, he does. Obi-Wan, Palpatine, me. If see you he does, think Palpatine you are."

Luke was vaguely insulted. "I don't look anything like the Emperor."

"Remind Vader of his mentor you might. When Palpatine Chancellor, and young, once was." Yoda closed his lightsaber. He stepped out, holding his arms out and using the Force the same as Vader did. He did not deflect them back at Vader but tossed them aside. They crashed bouncing to the ground.

Around him Luke saw a completely new landscape. Where once tall canyon spires loomed, now the sand was littered with rubble. Some of the canyons stood at half their original height; others looked deformed and fragile as their supports were eroded.

"Vader," Yoda called. "To me, bring your fight."

Luke saw Vader's helmet jerk suddenly, as if woken abruptly. The air became hushed.

"Powerful, your son is," Yoda informed him. "But of the light is he. Grown up, under the cloak of darkness he has."

"My son," Vader hissed. "His place is with me." Luke took an involuntary step backward as Vader's anger redirected itself. He stalked toward Yoda. "You," he menaced. "You were a part of this. You took my son!" Now the lightsaber ignited.

"Took him not from you, Anakin," Yoda countered evenly. With an almost leisurely air, he activated his own lightsaber again. "From Vader and the Emperor saved him we did. No more dark did the galaxy need."

As if given a signal, both Yoda and Vader leaped toward each other. Luke, who in all his training had not witnessed a lightsaber duel since Ben gave himself up to Vader, was awed by the flashing movements of his master and father. His eyes saw blurred shapes, his ears registered the loud hum of lightsabers.

He hadn't been afraid before, but he was now. Unsure of what his role was in this duel he helplessly held his own lightsaber out. He did not act, however. Yoda's voice held him back. _Wait_ , Luke heard in his mind. _Wait. When comes the time, know you will._

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Leia perceived a spike in Luke's Force sense. There was no porthole where she was rooted to the spot in the rear of the medbay, so it wasn't clear to her what was happening, but obviously his confrontation with Vader was heating up. She didn't like being separated from him. But she wasn't sure how she could help. She was no Jedi. She did not know how to wield a lightsaber. And Yoda was with him, she told herself. Yoda would watch out for him.

Something had broken in her the moment Chewie took Han from her, like everything was spiraling out of control. She felt useless to both Luke and Han, and in the waning heat of the day, she became numb. She stopped moving, let Chewie clear a bay for the slaves to gather, let him get water and bedding. Chewie was everywhere at once, bringing supplies from the cargo hold, arranging for the comfort of the slaves, and helping the medic with Han.

The medbay was a small and cramped space, and with both Chewie and the medic tending to Han and C-3PO in there to translate, she was in the way so moved as far back as she could.

On the skiff she'd been positive she was the only thing standing between Han living and dying. She was terrified of letting him go. After Chewie ushered Han to the medbay she spent precious minutes holding her breath, trying to prepare herself, until she swayed on her feet. But PM 7 ministered to Han proficiently and expertly. They had cut off his vest and shirt and he lay bare chested on the bunk. She now clutched his vest like a talisman and refused to look at his wound. The med scanner was like the _Falcon's_ console board months ago, lit up with alerts and flashing lights warning of dangerous blood oxygen levels, pressure, pulse rates.

PM 7 had a habit of muttering to himself while he worked and Chewie hooted softly, Leia thought just a comforting noise. It was directed at anyone who needed it; her, him, Han. Chewie stepped forward just enough to squeeze Han's feet. He gave Leia a somber look.

"He didn't find any needles?" PM 7 asked C-3PO. He was less frightened of the Wookiee now, but was amazed that any being could understand such speech.

"No, sir," C-3PO answered. "He was unable to locate any in the storage containers. And I'm afraid we used the last one in here several months ago, when Master Skywalker received an injury."

Leia lifted her gaze from Han. "What do you need?" she asked. If she could be of help, useful, perhaps this lethargy would leave her.

"Needles," PM 7 flashed her a quick look before returning to his patient. "For the drip line. You've got saline solution," he indicated with a sweep of his hand clear bags on a metal table behind him. "And plasma at proper storage temps. But nothing to get it in the vein."

"It wasn't part of the inventory." Leia shook her head. Though she and Luke had counted the supplies long ago, she remembered clearly what the order had been. "That's one item not hard to obtain."

"Why do you have all this anyway?" the medic asked her as he worked. "Are you part of a charity organization or something?"

 _In a manner of speaking_ , she thought wryly. She decided to be upfront with the medic. "They are for the Rebel Alliance. I'm sure you are aware of the Galactic Civil War?"

"Of course," PM 7 acknowledged. "News of that proportion reaches even Jabba's palace."

"Well, we're supplying the base with much needed medical supplies. We had to obtain them illegally."

"I'm sure," PM 7 said mildly. For a moment Leia regretted her honesty. Did the medic disapprove of the war? Would he report them to the Empire? She needed to feel him out.

"Does it bother you, to keep company with smugglers?"

The medic snorted. "Bah. I've kept far worse company, believe me. I'm worse, myself."

Leia didn't understand his veiled reference, but thought now was not the time to remind the doctor of his personal failings. "What was Jabba's opinion on the war?" she asked.

"Jabba only thought about things if it could make him money," PM 7 said. "I wouldn't be surprised to hear he supported both sides, though I don't know."

The definition of a true mercenary, Leia mused. She thought back to one of her first conversations with Han, when he'd insisted his only motivation was money and she'd called him a mercenary. But he'd never played both sides. He would never take money from the Empire, at least not after he met Luke and Leia.

Han was breathing on his own now. The medic had inserted a tube to clear the air way of blood and injected a coagulant to stop internal bleeding. She could hear air escape his lungs, exiting with each shallow inhale and exhale.

"Can you roll him over?" the medic asked the big Wookiee. "Just on his side. Need to get to the exit wound. That's it," he encouraged.

She wouldn't look at it. Instead she focused on Han's face. She barely recognized him. The essence of his character was missing. Han's face was always so expressive, even when he was making himself unreadable. No thoughts crossed his face now. She had enjoyed watching his mouth and eyes. Now she looked at him differently. She saw the outline of his jaw, the curve of his nose. His shoulder had a dark mole and a small scar. _Where are you, Han?_

She decided if Chewie could offer sound then she would offer touch. "Is he in pain?" she asked PM 7. She moved to the side of the bunk and stroked the hair over Han's forehead.

The medic pointed at a pile of packets Chewie had brought in. "Would you open those for me please? Put on some gloves – got to keep them sterile. It's bacta bandaging." Leia thought he was going to ignore her question, but after working silently a moment, he answered her. "Unconsciousness is still not fully understood, Leia. I know of patients who report experiences in such a state. They recognize voices, touch, family, even though physically they cannot respond. He'll certainly have pain when he regains consciousness, though."

"He will? Regain consciousness?" Leia asked. She handed him the bandaging. It felt cool and wet, even through the gloves.

"Oh, at some point." PM 7 began to wrap Han's chest.

"Is he still in danger, of.. of dying?"

PM 7 bobbed his head from side to side, considering. "I'll be honest with you: here, yes. Without better care. He's lost a lot of blood. There's a risk of cardiac arrest or stroke. In addition to the trauma."

Leia's eyes darted to the med scanner. Chewie whimpered and squeezed Han's foot again. "Will you sedate him? "

He didn't look up while using scissors to cut the bandaging. "No," he answered curtly. "Can't. Suffered a laceration to a lung. I'm just stabilizing him. He's going to need full facilities at a surgery center."

Leia nodded and looked down at Han's quiet face again. It was selfish, she knew that, but she was glad. He would waken, and even if it hurt, she wanted to hear his voice again.

PM 7 leaned against the cabinets. He let out a heavy sigh. "That's all I can do right now," he said. "We need the needles."

"I'm not familiar with Mos Eisley," Leia admitted. "Will we be able to obtain them in a medical supply store?"

PM 7 nodded. He looked very tired all of a sudden. "Yes, certainly. They are actually sold in general stores here. Dehydration and sunstroke are common maladies. Life in the desert. Beings learn early how to administer an IV line." He took off his gloves and made to leave. "Do you mind if I check through those medical supplies? I'll see what else we'll need from town. It would be helpful to leave before dark."

"Not at all." Chewie and C-3PO followed him out the door. Leia, left alone with the odd noise of Han's breathing, found her hopelessness returned in a wave. Lightly she stroked his brow. He was lost to them again. Her fingers moved down his cheek, over the scar on his chin, along his neck under the jawline. Lost, just when she was finding him. "Han," she whispered into his temple. "Will I still dream of you?"

She closed her eyes, placing her forehead on his, and remembered their free fall. Her thoughts ran together, like the first time she had meditated with Luke in the Force. His warm touch, how her dreams made the Death Star incompetent, Vader's cape unraveling. _You're beautiful_. "So are you."

 _I'm supposed to be fighting_ , she'd told Han in the supply closet.

 _You are_ , he'd answered. Luke, "the garbage masher's this way." Leia smiled. Luke.

"I'm supposed to be fighting," she said quietly into Han's hair. "Luke's outside, with Vader."

 _You're going to be late for your Rebellion_. Flying her in the Death Star, mining gems that became bombs in her hands. He brought her to the fight and he gave her weapons.

She fingered his hair, strands that curled in opposite directions, streaks of gold on the dark, like his eyes. "What do I do?"

The Death Star had a guilty conscience. Alderaanian puzzle gems and her bedroom. His mouth on hers, his hands in her hair. _A bit of Vader in you._ "Tell me, Han. I feel so lost."

Her chin quivered. What if she lost him? _He's your spark, isn't he_? "What you do for me, Han." Her lips brushed his forehead. "You support me. Help me. Know me."

His hands in her hair, weaving. _No secrets_. Black and white, good and bad. Tying himself to her, holding her while they fell. _I'm right here, Sweetheart_.

"We're linked," she realized. "Since the Death Star." Storm Troopers, slipping on ice, not noticing them, aim poor.

On the Death Star, she'd lost herself. Her world was destroyed, her person violated. She experienced unbearable pain and anguish. She had been ready to die.

And, too, on the Death Star, she found herself. Met resolve, saved lives, found family. She wanted to live.

Tears came. "You gave me _me_. Didn't you. What will I have if you die?"

But she knew. She would still have herself, she always would. She had that resolve to fight, to defend, to save lives. She had family, and while they died they were never completely lost. Not when they had given so much. Every being had a similar story. Everyone lost a loved one, at some point. That was the simple truth of life. Alderaan would never completely die, because it was a part of her. Han was a part of her too, and he would never leave, even if he died.

Her tears dripped on his forehead and rolled into his hair. "Thank you, Han. If I don't get to tell you later. Thank you. I love you. I'm going to go and fight now."

She gave him one last caress, one last kiss.


	22. Chapter 22

He drifted in and out. _Use your claws_. The growl, tender but insistent, filled the room, caught his sense of hearing. Claws. Grab the tree, he knew, he understood. Stop falling. A squeeze at his foot. Reassurance. Warmth at his forehead. Soft, tender. _If I don't see you again_. Love. A draft at his temple. Up, climbing up. The warmth gone, removed. _Grab, dammit_. Slipping.

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Leia stepped down the Falcon's ramp and paused in the late afternoon of the desert. The suns, now low in the sky, were blocked by stone rises. If she looked up she saw the endless expanse of Tatooine's sky, but around her, within the canyon, the light was dim and the air beginning to cool.

Her boots crunched on the sandy gravel and she could barely make out sounds of conflict up ahead. The air vibrated with a hum, an energy that emitted from lightsabers. Determinedly she strode, knowing she had to take her place beside Luke. Just once, she heard his voice, shouting 'father' and was relieved to know he was alive and well enough to battle.

Around Leia the timeless danger of the desert stretched, and Vader's presence was unmistakable, strong and dominating, like it had become a part of the desert. An added eddy of frenzied lunacy, unstable and agitated, was in the air.

She and Luke had learned of their biological father in hyperspace, on the journey from Dagobah to Tatooine. It had been the safest place to learn something that fundamental and monumental, Leia realized. In hyperspace, there was nothing concrete to hold on to. They were outside the confines of any society. No preconceived attitudes or conventions. She and Luke could take the information for what it was. A simple fact. He was their biological father. It did not take away from Bail Organa, the man who had raised her and whom she considered her father; it did not taint them as children of a monster. She, and Luke especially, had quickly succumbed to a curiosity about the man whose genes they shared. They had scoured holoarchives and found little. Palpatine had ensured the Jedi order did not continue after he created the Empire, and had purged not only the living Jedi but any information from the written records as well. Yoda had been able to fill in more details.

He told them Anakin Skywalker had come to the Temple as a young boy, older than most, but with an already strong ability in the Force. He had been uncomfortable. He always wore an extra tunic because he was cold. But he had bright spots: he was a natural pilot and was very good mechanically. Although socially awkward, he was eager to be liked. He was generous and a champion of the downtrodden.

 _Not unlike Han_ , thought Leia. Fondly, she recalled the tour of the Falcon Han had given them, pointing out all the special modifications he'd installed himself. And he certainly was not as hard-hearted as he claimed – Chewie had sworn a Life Debt, after all. The similarities caused her to wonder something. Had she, subconsciously, sought out a man who reminded her of her father, even though she had no idea who her father was?

But there were aspects to Anakin's personality that had disturbed Yoda. Anakin didn't like to discuss his early childhood. _Han, too_. Anakin had a chip on his shoulder and felt that he had always been destined for bigger and greater things.

There the resemblance between Han and Anakin ended, Leia decided. She knew, because of the way he got fidgety or even abruptly left conversations, that Han's beginnings were difficult, if not harsh. Where derogatory treatment made Anakin Skywalker bristle with resentment and think _you're wrong_ , it somehow had indoctrinated itself in Han, and he must have thought _they're right_ , and believed himself worthless.

So alike, but so different. Leia pictured two boys, both living in poverty and shame and hardship. Both with aspirations of a better life. Both desiring to gain control over their lives. One found the answer in power and destroyed everything in his way; the other strove to remain alone but collected the loyalest of friends. How does that happen, she wondered. Could Vader's rise have been prevented long ago? And by whom? Was it already too late when Yoda met Anakin at the Temple? Could Han still turn into someone like Vader, even now?

Vader's Force presence was almost corporeal. _Such a physical being_ , Leia reflected as she walked. Vader had no thought of consequences; he was in the here and now, simply demonstrating his feelings. Again, not unlike Han. Both men could lash out, wanting to hurt, but for Han it was over as soon as the punch landed. Vader did not seem to get any satisfaction out of his temper tantrum. _Because of the Force. His body never gets to release his anger._

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"Father!" Luke shouted, finally deciding to detract Vader's fury at Yoda. "If one of us is soon to be one with the Force, then at least tell me why!"

Luke was beginning to formulate a strategy. He found he was still quite emotional, but when he sought the Force during a peak of anger, or sorrow, or grief, the Force stopped moving, stopped showing him the paths of connections. It puddled, became a place to lose oneself in and drown. _Vader,_ Luke thought. _That's why all this time this is all he's done. He wallows_.

So Luke forbade himself worrying for Han, fearing for Leia, and feeling the bitter disappointment of his parentage. He now felt stronger in the Force, and rather than the delicate tendrils he'd noticed on Dagobah it now streamed in tensile fibers.

Yoda and Vader seemed equally matched. Luke was amazed at the skill and beauty of a lightsaber duel. Both beings spun, leaped, struck and lunged. Slashes marked their clothing but neither looked to be gravely wounded.

"Why! Just tell me!" he demanded.

Yoda parried his saber at Vader. He heard Luke speak and thought he might be able to strike the killing blow, if it sufficiently distracted Vader.

But Vader deflected the attempt without breaking his focus. "You ask him why," he growled.

Luke danced around the two beings. "I already know what he'll say."

Luke knew Yoda's intent, that Vader should die; here, now. But Luke was not going to let that happen. He couldn't exactly say why. Vader had committed too many crimes, too many sins, for him to escape with his life. Luke knew only that the right did not belong to Yoda. It belonged to Luke and Leia, perhaps, but it also belonged to the Galaxy.

"Is that so?" Vader flipped himself backwards and Yoda answered with his own forward-motion flip. Frustrated, Luke took several leaps of his own to remain in their battle circle. His eyes gleamed, briefly. He looked back, amazed at the distance he'd covered with the aid of the Force.

"Yes. He's said I was hidden from you to keep me safe."

"A son is never in danger from his father!"

"That isn't always true," Luke answered. His voice was quiet, despite the need to be heard. A memory rose, he and Leia and Han, somewhere, on a mission but nothing to do with a mission. Drinking, talking, conversation turning to philosophical discussion because that was how Leia was. Han tight lipped and hard eyed, pointing at his chest, _the sins of the father aren't visited on this son_. "They saw the Dark Side as a danger."

"To themselves," Vader snapped. "The Dark Side exists. It cannot be extinguished. Make of it what you will."

"And what would you have made with it? Palpatine named you his apprentice."

Vader was quiet. He evaded Yoda, all the while thinking. What would he have made with it? If Palpatine had granted him what he wished, if he had been taught to cheat death and Padme hadn't died or if his body was whole, what would he have become?

"And you have made something of it, haven't you?" Luke prodded.

He was Palpatine's apprentice. Worse, his henchman. He had learned little to nothing from his Sith master of the Dark Side. Vader's own body physically maimed, it was difficult to attain full mastery.

He had not made enough of it. He had made little of it.

He tasted again the earlier emotion of disappointment from his son, and tasted it under his own tongue now. His own disappointment, in himself.

The thought made anger surge through him. _Such a waste_.

Abruptly he wanted to kill Palpatine. The desire was not new but it was the second time he really had wanted to act on it. The first time only moments ago, when he first saw Yoda. He would like to kill Palpatine again and again. One time, one death was not enough. The Sith master deserved it repeatedly. He deserved more than pain, more than death. He deserved to know the power Vader had, power to defeat him, Palpatine's greatest undoing, his greatest shame, again and again.

"I hate him," Vader yelled to the canyons and the air vibrated with emotion.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Maranya must be sitting on his chest, he couldn't breathe. "Get off," he told her and tried to push her. But she didn't budge. She sat on him, taking his air. Her skeletal frame poked and stabbed at him, he was ashamed to admit it hurt. She was just a body, so thin, how could she cause him pain? Gods, it hurt. He moaned, and tried to again to shove her away.

Hands grabbed at his. "Solo," he heard. "Stop."

Han struggled to open his eyes. She wasn't sitting on him.

"Off?"he tried to say, but when he opened his mouth he found he couldn't speak. His eyelids fluttered and his eyes kept rolling to the back of his head.

"Stop," Maranya said again. "Be still."

It was Maranya. He was disappointed. He thought he'd left the palace behind. Luke, Leia, hadn't they been there? Hadn't they left together? Had he dreamed it? His eyes closed again, this time willingly, not wanting to live another moment in that cell with Maranya.

She let go his hand and adjusted something. Something on his shoulder, and a beeping noise. He opened his eyes again. Beeping noise? The sand never beeped

. Where was he? It was familiar. He knew this place, if he could just place it...Gray, durosteel, cabinets, the square threshold indicating a pocket door could be palmed open and closed, he knew that so precisely, the wall not smooth but unfinished, like a renovation project not yet completed... industrial, like how space craft were built...the _Falcon_!

Oh, gods, the _Falcon_. He wanted to weep. Not his usual place on his beloved ship. But then that meant he hadn't dreamed it. He was home. Luke and Leia had been there. They must be here somewhere.

But this - this wasn't his quarters. Beep, Beep. Something being measured...beep, beep...monitored...medbay. He was in the medbay. And that was why he hurt. _Good start, Solo_.

His mouth moved "PM 7?" But all that came out was "M?"

"In town," Maranya answered, understanding him or perhaps reading his lips. "He and your Wookiee friend. They are getting supplies for you." PM 7 had entrusted her to watch over Solo while they were gone. They showed her how to use a comm in case something changed in his condition.

Me? Han tried to remember. Luke and Leia, and Jabba... And he had killed Jabba. Right. The dark tunnels, the skiff, sailing.

"Me?" He asked, and it came out as a whole word.

"To help you get strong before they take you to the medcenter."

Medcenter? That bad? Sailing... A second skiff... Vader. Vader! Alarmed, he jerked his arm up.

"Stop, Solo. You'll make it worse." Her voice was worried. "Stop."

He fell back, overcome by pain and the inability to breathe properly and was out again. Maranya continued her watch.

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Yoda was determined to kill him, he didn't need the Force to tell him that. But damned if he was going to let that happen. His son wouldn't like it, but if he killed the Jedi master it was out of self-defense.

Vader made no sound. He was not one to discuss, plead, announce intentions. He knew his son did not wish to see Yoda cut down. It would complicate matters greatly. But if he did happen to kill Yoda, then his son would eventually calm down and they could move on with what really needed to be accomplished. The only noise from him was the exact regularity of the respiration from his mechanical lungs.

Yoda was also strangely quiet, and fiercely concentrating. He was not winded, but his age caused him to breathe heavily and he grunted with exertion.

Luke continued to be their foil, dancing in and out of their way, leaping in front of them, preventing a killing blow but also avoiding being struck down himself. He recognized both Yoda and Vader valued him, for different reasons, but enough that both wanted him to live. And so when he got in their way, his skill in the Force and their own mastery kept him safe. He was the only one who talked. He spoke to get them to think. The duel was one of physical skill, but Luke needed to convert it to a match of wits. Then he would win.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Leia paused, concealing her physical presence behind a boulder while she watched and considered. The three beings were in constant physical motion; green, blue, and red lightsaber blades making arcs of color as they swung in all directions.

Her lips parted in astonishment. Why had she been worried for Luke? To some it might seem he was the weakest, as he was the one moving the most. But to a practiced eye he was neither fighting defensively or offensively; he was merely there. Like an obstacle they had to conquer. He was completely in charge and she was so proud of him.

The three were in constant motion that it was difficult to take her place next to him. _Luke,_ she called through the Force, _I've come to join you_.

 _Stay back_ , he cautioned. Then he looked at her, his head cocked. _Han?_ He asked.

She offered a brave smile. _Alive_. He sent her his happy relief.

Luke turned back to Vader. "You see it, don't you? How even the Force has used you."

Vader spun away from Yoda and caught Leia out of the corner of his eye. He had not noticed her approach and chided himself for his lapse. How had the Force not warned him? He recognized her: she was the Princess of Alderaan, the one he had interrogated on the Death Star. Even then, she had been a peculiar being. Her Force sense was seemingly at odds with itself. So strong it was unreadable. She had been a puzzle then, but one that he did not need to solve, nor one that he wanted to unlock. Dealing with her had made him supremely uncomfortable, bringing up long-banished thoughts and emotions that threatened to unseat his carefully reined in temper.

"What is _she_ doing here?" he demanded.

"I'm your conscience," Leia blurted, paraphrasing Han's words in her Death Star dreams. There, evidence of Alderaan was everywhere, even after its destruction. She had gone home again in her dreams, rubbed textiles, tasted bread, danced, smelled the flowers. _I made the dreams,_ she realized with sudden clarity. _I'm everything in them. I'm the Death Star, and I'm Alderaan, and I'm Han._

Luke beamed at her. "The Dark Side does not know remorse," Vader told her flatly.

"Ah, but _you_ do," Luke said and Vader flew at him in a rage. Luke hastened off, startled. _Keep talking_ , he encouraged Leia.

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"Maranya?" he croaked. It came out "M-anya."

"Hello, Solo." She swam in and out of his focus.

"Better?"

She smiled softly. "Not much," she allowed. "But better. You're awake."

"How long..." he tried to finish 'did I sleep' but couldn't get a deep enough breath.

"Not long. They are still in town. It is not yet dark."

 _Still in town?_ he wondered. _Who?_ "What?"

"Do you remember?"

"'member'…?"

Maranya provided no answer for him. She was still the same infuriatingly unhelpful person. What was he supposed to remember? He tried to inhale and winced. "Am I okay?"he groaned.

She smiled again. "No," she said simply.

"The _Falcon_ ," he sighed dreamily.

"This? The ship? You know it?"

"Mine." A slight smile played on his lips. He saw the cockpit, him sitting in the captain's seat, Chewie copiloting beside him. He frowned. "Chewie?"

"In town. With PM 7. Getting supplies. Remember? I told you."

PM 7, Maranya. He'd shared some experience with them….they were with him during…..."Jabba."

"Yes. You killed Jabba."

"Yes." Jabba had been about to kill him, ordered...Luke to do it. "Luke," Han whispered. Maranya did not answer him. She had not learned everyone's names yet. "Luke, Leia." Han tried to sit up but Maranya pushed against his shoulder.

"Don't."

"Leia. Where are they?"

Maranya shook her head. "Damn it, Maranya," he sighed. "You gotta … tell me." He remembered now. There was another skiff, and Darth Vader manned it, coming after Luke. "Are they," Han breathed, "here?"

"No."

"On the ship?" Breath. "Desert?"

"Not far. In the canyons still, I think."

"Did he get them?" Inhale. "Vader?"

Maranya shook her head. Solo's intensity was unsettling. She pinned it on shock and his injuries and tried to answer to keep him as quiet as possible.

"We have to," Han breathed, "get out there."

"You are not leaving," she declared. "Have to….," breath, "help."

"You cannot go."

"Yeah." Breath. "Take me."

"No! And how?" Maranya marveled at the man on the bunk before her. He could barely speak, much less walk, but he was extremely agitated.

"Carry...me."

She almost laughed it was so ridiculous. "No.I am not big or strong enough."

"Repulsor cart….for loading. Carry me."

"Solo, no. You'll probably die."

"S'okay….they're impor...tant."

Maranya considered. This man had a different view than she did. He always had. She let things happen because she felt nothing was in her control or power to change an outcome. He, on the other hand, was always fighting. She was here, alive, because of him. He had deemed her important enough. And they had been through a lot together. He was special to her, somehow. Generous, paternal, authoritative. She only knew she was here because of him. If he asked she would go anywhere. And now these other two, his friends, were even more important and he wanted to help them.

"To us? Me too?"

"Yes." He still couldn't take a deep breath without wincing. "Whole damn…galaxy."

"Tell me what to do."

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"What happened to Anakin Skywalker?" Luke asked as he sidestepped Vader. "What was so important that you abandoned yourself?"

"He is dead!" Vader roared. Yoda moved off, watching carefully, and stood near Leia.

"He's not dead if you are searching for his son."

"I want his son!" "You mean the Emperor." Yoda noticed Luke's voice was soft, gentle. "The Emperor wants his son. For himself. And then you'll have nothing. Again."

Leia was fascinated. Luke was leading Vader, stepping towards her, and Vader was following. Luke was asking, and Vader was answering. _Putty in his hands._

"Why didn't you know of me?" Luke asked. He brought his wrist up to cross swords with Vader. "How did Palpatine know but not you? How did you lose me? Where were you when I was born? What happened to my mother?" Luke's questions came faster than Vader's blows. With each one Leia could see Luke was somehow weakening Vader.

It did not pass either Yoda's or Leia's attention that Luke did not mention a daughter.

"Your mother died in childbirth. She was always going to." Vader's story cut into his chest, as painful as a lightsaber blade. His throat was constricted and he grieved for his lost love as if her death were brand new.

"The Dark Side was to save her. To save her!" he roared, energized anew.

Luke leaped away. Leia almost clapped in delight of his powers.

"But it didn't save her. And Anakin was lost, too," Luke concluded sadly atop a boulder.

"They should have brought you to me," Vader yelled. "I am your father!"

"I want Anakin," Luke stated. "My mother died. I could have had a father."

"I am your father!" Vader shouted again. He was at the foot of Luke's boulder, waving his lightsaber uselessly. He bent his knees and vaulted to share the small space with Luke. The boulder, weakened from its place on a canyon wall, eroded with the pressure of the two bodies, and Vader slid down.

"People die, Anakin," Luke said. "We're supposed to die. Some are lucky and die after a full life, but others die young." He sprang back to the ground. "Some die cruelly. Life's unfair."

"She wasn't supposed to die!"

"I think she was. I'm sorry. You must have loved her."

A strange, strangled noise came from Vader. "The Force wouldn't help me. It only showed me visions of her death! The Dark Side was supposed to help me save her!"

"But it didn't. Neither did the Light."

"The Dark Side!" Vader yelled incoherently. "It was my Master. He kept me from her."

"He's using you," Luke told him.

"I will kill him!" Vader shouted and he was after Luke again, his red blade glowing in the fading light, swirling, striking, thrusting, while all the while, Luke remained just out of reach.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Han lay back on the cart, and Maranya steered it past the hull of the _Falcon_. Once they passed the underbelly of the ship, he had a terrific view of the sky, the thin edges of the canyon's heights inconsistent and scraggly.

"This is a bad idea," Maranya said quietly. Solo had directed her to fetch a blaster from his quarters. His right shooting arm was sore from the gash and he could barely hold the gun with both his hands. She had covered herself in a blanket she found on his bunk but he was wrapped in bandages, wearing just his pants and socks. The walk through the _Falcon_ had almost been enough to do him in. He was force to lean heavily on Maranya, and almost toppled her, while his vision tunneled. Slowly, carefully, they had made it outside.

"Probably," he agreed. The sky was becoming a beautiful blue and just a few stars were visible.

"I hear yelling. Is that them?" Maranya asked.

"Yeah. Not far." "You are going to shoot this one, too?"

"Ssh," he directed her. He had no idea. What with his bad arm, and breathless vision, and that fact that it was Darth Vader up ahead, he had strong doubts he'd be able to. If anything, he hoped that their unexpected appearance would sway things Luke's way. He was good at that, causing the unexpected.

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"I know why you want to kill him," Luke reminded Vader. His understanding tone had the desired effect on Vader, who paused to lisen. "He is using you. But what will you do about the Force?"

Vader raised his lightsaber. "The Force?"

"Yes. You see it doesn't serve you. You should have known of me. My name is Skywalker! When you meditated, how come it didn't show you me?"

Vader took a bounding leap, away from Yoda where the boy had led him without him noticing. He was slipping. First the Princess, and now Luke had him like a puppet on a string. But it had started with Palpatine. Vader's mindless enslavement, all for Padme, dead as soon as he surrendered, nothing accomplished. All these years. Everything the boy said, Vader had asked himself time and time again. Only now, uttered aloud, did Vader see just how senseless it all was. He had asked those same questions and without anyone to answer them they just swirled around his subconscious, making him wonder more intensely, his anger growing fervently, feeding Palpatine.

"Do you see it now?" Luke asked. "Why it doesn't show you everything? Why you haven't accomplished all you want to?"

Luke offered his questions in a lilting, narrative tone. He had an audience, all of them. Yoda had extinguished his saber and stood near Leia, leaning on his walking stick. Leia was rapt, her eyes shining and bright. Even Vader had fallen under his spell.

"I'm sure you're about to explain ti to me," Vader said wryly. He checked on Yoda, to be sure he was safe from attack. He lowered his lightsaber, waiting. Luke's own blue laser was calm, held before him like a beacon.

He nodded. "When you fell to the Dark Side, you abandoned the Light. You lost your balance. You can still use the Dark," Luke encouraged. "Use it like it's supposed to be used, with the Light."

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Han gritted his teeth and managed to remain sitting upright, though it took about all the resolve he had. He could see them, two blades bright in the purple light, four beings standing close together. The cool air was energizing. He found that while he was terribly weak his thoughts were at least active. Two lightsabers, red and blue. _Where's the third?_ He could see Leia, and then Luke, who stood higher than the others. They still wore his black vest and white shirt, presenting a united front.

"Back here," he instructed Maranya. "Stop." She guided the repulsor cart behind a boulder.

"What do we do now?" she asked him.

"Help me up."

Maranya took a deep breath. She did it out of sympathy for Solo, who didn't get enough air and she did it for herself, to prepare. Something was going on where the little group was gathered, something beyond her comprehension, but instinct told her to beware.

Han's blaster was limp in his hand and he rested his elbow against a chunk of boulder to steady himself. He took a long time to get ready. His vision wavered in and out, blurry or black-edged, and the few steps to the rock had exhausted him.

Maranya waited patiently beside him. "They are talking," she observed quietly.

"Yeah." Vader was mostly shadow against the darkening sky, but the red indicator lights of his chest plastron glowed. He made a clear target. _Easy pickings_. That is, if Han could count on himself to not fall down.

"How's," he breathed at her, "my aim?"

Maranya leaned forward, her eye to the sight of the blaster. "I can't be sure," she admitted. She sat a little higher than he, her angle more to the side. "Maybe."

"Great," Han said. He spent long moments trying not to pass out. Maybe he should wait, he thought. But this was Vader. This was the being responsible for so many wrongs in the galaxy. This was the man who had hurt Leia so badly, had damaged her but not broken her. He could not forgive him that. And Luke – if Vader lived then Luke would always be looking over his shoulder, waiting for that moment when Vader finally caught up with him. Han had been through that, with Jabba's bounty on his head, never able to relax, always on guard. It was no way to live.

Holding the blaster was agony. He suppressed a groan, watched the gun wobble in his weak grip. _Now or never_. The shot went wide and low, hitting the ground near Vader's boots and throwing sand up over them. _Shit_ , was Han's thought as he sagged down the boulder, unable to rally himself for a second shot.

All in the circle reacted, jumping back and crouching expectantly as the blaster bolt echoed harmlessly away. Leia stayed by Luke's side and three sabers were lit and ready to deflect.

"What the hells was that?" Luke wondered aloud. _Han_ , his Force sense informed him. _Damn him. What has he done?_

"Leia," he whispered. "Find him." She didn't need to be told who to look for. She darted off.

Vader's head snapped to Luke. "Story time is over, boy," he menaced. "Now it is my turn to be disappointed. You were planning on killing me after all." He stalked toward Luke, his saber held in challenge.

"No! No, I wasn't," Luke cried. "Everything I said was the truth. He acted on his own. He wasn't supposed to come."

The skiff pilot, Vader realized. Solo. He made off to find him.

Luke hastened after him. "Wait. Father, just wait! Search your feelings."

Vader stepped past him, following the sense of the pilot. It hadn't mattered on the skiff, whether he killed the pilot or not. The purpose had just been to reach his son. But now Solo was proving troublesome. "He is weak and in pain," Vader announced to Luke. "His mistake was to try and kill me."

"No more than what you did to him!" Luke accused. "It's the reaction you get across the galaxy! You breed hate! Everyone hates you. I suppose it's how you get off on the Dark Side, but you can't do anything with it!" Luke was anxious to bring Vader back. He had been so close to reaching Vader and then Han had to go and ruin the moment. Luke snorted to himself. It wasn't the first time he'd had this thought.

"Father, leave him alone," Luke pleaded. "You touch him, you kill him, and you've lost me forever. I'll never fall and use just the Dark Side. You'll never reach me again."

There he was, curled up against the boulder. The Princess had beaten Vader there and was kneeling beside him. Another being was there, a human. A human so dispirited, crushed; a slave. Vader tasted bile. _Tatooine. Where I grew up, a slave. Destined for so much more._

Vader watched the Princess, whispering urgently. Solo's hand cupped her face and hers was in the hollow of his neck. They were communicating with fingers and eyes, saying so much beyond mere words. Inside his helmet he tried to shake off whatever the princess began to stir in him again. They loved each other, that was clear. Ridiculous. A princess and a smuggler….a slave….a senator and a slave. Padme, he grieved. _My Padme_.

So now a smuggler had a Princess, this girl of familiar hair and eyes and….spirit. The smuggler had this woman, this love. Distantly, his son was exhorting him to use all aspects of the Force. "It will show you everything! There's still something to learn!" But the smuggler had love, and he was no one. And Vader had no one, but he was loved.

The red blade hummed to life. Solo crawled back into the boulder on his palms, just a reflexive action. He had nowhere to go. The Princess stood, eyes blazing. Oh, how he knew that look. Her eyes blazed and her voice was resolute, determined. The seasoned politician, that sense of justice, of right; yes, he'd known that once, too; the eyes brown, the hair thick. His fingers had helped brush that hair….Vader stopped.

The Princess was powerful, like Luke, a force to be reckoned with. "I told you, Father," she pronounced distinctly and deliberately, "I am your conscience."

Vader fell to his knees.


	23. Chapter 23

The amber photo receptors of the protocol droid glowed in the darkness of the cockpit. The suns' light had left the canyons and the principal members of the _Falcon's_ crew were still unaccounted for.

The droid fretted. He hoped that First Mate Chewbacca would return soon from the Mos Eisley space port. He had listened to the port authority's visitors guide, and it did not seem Tatooine was a hospitable planet at any time, particularly at nightfall, when the Tusken Raiders were active.

C-3PO, while politely concerned for the Wookiee's safety, could say that he was also dreading his return. It was worrisome enough that Master Luke and Princess Leia had decided they needed to confront Vader. What would the Wookiee do to him when he learned that Captain Solo had somehow managed to disembark without the droid's knowledge?

C-3PO wished he had a better understanding of cognitive behavior, especially in humans and Wookiees, the beings with whom he had daily interaction. It would help his job immensely as a protocol droid. If he understood Wookiee behavior better, then perhaps he would be able to discuss Captain Solo in a way that kept First Mate Chewbacca calm and rational.

Sentient beings were quite fascinating, however. In facing this situation, the three humans he had become quite familiar with would all react in unique ways. _Put your back to the sun,_ was the Tatooinian expression Master Luke would employ. Literally, putting one's back to the sun would throw light on the objects before one. It indicated preparation, research and planning.

Princess Leia would treat it with senatorial precision, and say _bring it to the floor._ She welcomed debate and differing points of view.

Captain Solo, more unorthodox, would merely say _show time_. He might resort to violence or he might use diplomacy; the droid suspected it all depended on his mood.

A sensor went off. If the droid could shrug, he would. First Mate Chewbacca had returned. Quietly he rehearsed different methods of approach, trying to find the one that would most likely keep his arms attached to his body.

"First Mate Chewbacca, First Mate Chewbacca," 3PO abandoned his careful arguments as soon as he saw the great Wookiee. He was no longer frightened of the beast, but Chewbacca just had that effect on him, even after all this time. He spoke as rapidly as his voice box allowed. "Please do not deactivate me or cause me any undo harm."

Chewie rolled his eyes as the mechanical began his self-centered worry. The droid always seemed on the edge of hysteria. Chewie gestured for the medic to precede him up the ramp and reached down to gather parcels he had deposited while he entered the access code to the ship.

C-3PO continued his monologue. "I do not know how this happened, and I am loathe to tell you, but Captain Solo is gone."

Chewie froze. _Gone?_ Had he heard correctly? The droid's ending statement hung in the air. "Gone?" he asked aloud, but he had stopped hearing. Had Han died? Died, after all this? Just like that?

Chewie was under the impression that Han, while seriously injured, was at least stable enough. He would not have made the trip into town otherwise. He looked at the medic, looking to see the same shock. But the medic was politely following the droid's endless prattle and Chewie heard him say something about the girl. _That's right, the girl,_ Chewie thought to himself. _We gave her a comm_. "Why didn't she comm us?" Chewie asked. She was supposed to update them on any change in condition. Really, there was little they'd be able to do. The medic was too far away to return quickly. Perhaps they should have left him on board. But then the medic had felt Han's condition was stable, too.

"If you just listened, you would know," C-3PO chided. "I said, the girl is gone as well. They seem to have disembarked. I have looked everywhere. They are simply not aboard. I don't know what happened. I don't know how they managed to slip past me. Please do not harm me!" C-3PO uttered these last words and took a few hasty steps backward. An odd gleam had come into Chewbacca's eyes, and again his gaze met the medic's, who looked back with a puzzled expression.

"They left?" the medic muttered uncomprehendingly. "How? And why? And where would they go? I don't understand." Chewie groaned; the medic was as bad as the droid.

"Certainly Solo is in no condition to go traipsing about," PM 7 finished. He felt an irrational resentment, as if patients were not allowed to suddenly feel better without a medic's permission.

Chewie pushed rudely past them to the medbay. His lips parted in a satisfied grin. The medbay was indeed devoid of its patient. No, his partner was certainly not traipsing about, and the girl was not capable of acting on her own. So Han had been alert enough to convince her to help him traipse about. The image amused the Wookiee, but just for a moment. Then he sobered, for he knew what would cause Han to want to leave the medbay: Leia.

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Leia stood before Vader, defiant and daring. She threw everything she knew of him - that he was powerful, and evil and hateful – threw it in his face with one word and reduced him to nothing.

 _Leia_ , Han wanted to say, but he couldn't get the word out. He wanted to cry out she should run, get away. He had interrupted a lightsaber duel with a poorly aimed shot and now Vader loomed behind them, poised to strike.

Han watched in speechless horror as Leia turned to face Vader. Maranya was clutching his arm, whimpering in terror and he couldn't hear everything, but Vader was yelling something about the smuggler being a nobody. Han wanted to tell her to let it go, let him go, Vader was right; he was just a smuggler, not someone important. Luke had the Force and Leia was the last Princess of Alderaan, but he was just a smuggler. He was fading again, but dimly he was aware of Leia's voice, impressed with the power behind it, and all of a sudden Vader was eye level with him on the sand. _What'd she hit him with_ , he wondered, before his head lolled back on the sand.

As soon as she saw she had decimated Vader, Leia turned her back on him and returned to Han. She had no need of Vader. There was nothing for her to consider about him. He was but a mere blip in her history, and he was the reason her past was erased. All she had was her future, and he was going to have no part in it. Her future was lying before her in the sand, and she was not going to let it slip from her.

Vader knelt, his helmet prohibiting the view of his gloved hands that fisted convulsively in the sand. He heard his own voice hoarsely whispering "no" over and over while his stomach brought up bile and his mechanical lungs breathed evenly. He wanted to silence the lungs. Their noise suggested control and an even temperament, and Vader felt he had lost all of that.

 _Princess Leia_ , his mind screamed. _Princess Leia_ , it insisted. _Princess Leia_ it repeated, faster than his heart beat. _Father. She called you father_.

Vader retched into his helmet. He coughed and sputtered, the smell making him gag more, the image of the forlorn Princess in the cell on the Death Star nauseatingly clear.

_Father._

He had interrogated her. Let the mind probe enter her thoughts, ignored the leering comments of her guards, penetrated her being with needles, held her still while they killed her planet.

He had not known. She was so like Padme, so like her mother. A strangled sob ripped from his mouth inside his helmet.

The girl, the woman, Bail Organa's, but his, _his_. He had been going to kill her. He retched again.

All of a sudden the canyon became dark. Luke and Yoda instinctively moved closer to Leia, clustered before Han and Maranya. Vader remained outside of their huddle, unaware of anything except his own private hell.

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Chewie bustled through the ship, taking a form of inventory. The slaves were here, all but one. Nothing was missing but the loading cart, Han, and the girl.

"We purchased nutrition broth," Chewie told C-3PO. "Heat it and serve these beings," he gestured with his head to the former slaves. "Stow the other purchases. I'm going to the canyon. I'll bring back Han, and anyone else I can." He turned to the medic. "You be ready. There may be more to treat."

C-3PO offered a translation for the medic. PM 7 opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to think better of it and fell silent.

"What?" Chewie prompted as he gathered some blankets from a storage closet.

"He would like to know if you have anything to add," C-3PO politely said.

The medic ran his hand through his hair. "It's just… it would help…."

"Spit it out," Chewie roared.

"Please continue," the droid said.

"I...I need spice."

"Spice?" Chewie asked incredulously. "What are you going to do with spice? How do you treat a patient with spice? You want to create a drug addict?"

"First Mate Chewbacca is ignorant how spice is used as a medicinal," 3PO offered helpfully.

"It's not, traditionally. It's…. gods. I need it. It's for me." PM 7 buried his face in his hands.

C-3PO turned to Chewie. "I had not expected that answer," he remarked superciliously.

"For you?" Chewie roared and took a step closer to the medic, inflating his fur. "You're a user? And I let you tend to my partner?" He raised his arms, and the medic stepped back, fearing he would be strangled.

"Oh dear!" 3-PO exclaimed. "First Mate Chewbacca is worried about the quality of care Captain Solo received."

"I'm sorry," PM 7 said haltingly. "I'm sorry. It's been….that's why I've been with Jabba." He raised his eyes, a flash of anger in his tone. "Did you expect anything good to come out of Jabba's?"

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Luke was eyeing Vader critically. "Are you… do you need help?" Vader's breathing was as regular as ever, but noises of struggle emitted from the helmet. Vader was gagging, retching, coughing and sputtering. Luke looked uncertainly at Yoda. "Should we take his helmet off?"

"Sealed, it is," Yoda answered. "Stop the breathing function, it will."

"My son," Vader whispered. "Daughter." Two. He had two children. He wondered if Padme had known herself. "The Emperor," he said louder, so that Yoda could hear him.

Yoda nodded. "Unaware of the daughter, is the Emperor," he assured Vader. "Safe she is, if safe from you she is."

Vader nodded, gasping audibly in his helmet. "She is now." Padme had not believed she would die in childbirth, and she'd been devastated when he turned to the dark side to save her. And then she had died. He had killed her. Had he? He had asked his Master, and Palpatine told him it was his anger… had he that anger toward Padme? One that he loved more than anything? Is that what the Dark Side had done to him? Extinguished love? There was no separating what was loved and what was hated.

Had Padme foreseen that? Had she seen the glimmer of the Dark Side in his eyes before he completely turned? Known that he was weak? Had she kept the knowledge of twin babies from him so that one at least would survive?

The Dark Side had not shown him his children. Ever. The Dark Side assured him they did not exist.

The deception was immense. _I am but a pawn. I am nothing_. He felt his body drain of the Dark Side. It was leaving him. Previously if he had a thought of self-loathing, the darkness would course through him with such strength he had thought it borne from himself. Now he was wretched, reduced to a quivering mass of shame and regret. The taste of bile in his throat burned as strong as his self-loathing, but it was coming for him now. He saw the truth. The Dark Side served only itself. Even Palpatine was subject to its whims.

"Yoda," Vader rasped. "Do not let my children's hands be tainted with my death."

"I agree," Yoda said. "Happen it shall not. Take you now, the Force can."

"No one will be tainted," Leia interrupted. "If you die, it will be at the decree of a court."

"Understand, you do not," Yoda corrected her. "The Dark Side, Vader no longer serves. Or feels. Reject it he has. And his death the result will be."

"Wait," Luke protested. He held up his arm, as if it could hold things in check. "Not so fast."

"Die, he will," Yoda insisted.

"On his own terms?" Leia was unsure if she accepted this. It didn't seem fair. Vader had inflicted so much misery on so many.

"The terms of the Dark Side," Yoda answered grimly.

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Chewie left the ship with blankets and water. He stopped for a moment, letting the night wind lift his fur, and smelled the air. He identified his friends' scent and headed in their direction. Anxiety gave him long strides.

It had all gotten so complicated. What started simply, Han leaving them to pay off his debt, had culminated in a huge fight of right and wrong, of father against son, of life and death. And now the medic would be useless when Chewie returned, another complication. He had locked PM7 in an available storage bay and made sure to remove anything the medic might try and harm himself with. A spice addiction was not easy to combat, and the most effective way was complete withdrawal. It would not be easy on the medic. Right now the human wanted the chance to put an end to his addiction, but he would be singing a different song when the physical withdrawals demanded relief.

Chewie worried about not having a medic's skill or knowledge. Han still needed treatment. What if Yoda, or Luke or Leia were wounded in the battle against Vader? Chewie was adept at basic first aid, as was Leia. But he'd never encountered a lightsaber wound before. He was planning on taking the skiff in the morning to the medcenter, but if need be, then he would risk the dangerous crossing at night.

If he were to be honest with himself, Chewie was worried about more than lightsaber injuries in Luke or Leia. He was worried Vader would win, and if Vader didn't kill Luke or Leia then they would leave as willing subjects of the Emperor. Chewie would have to kill Vader then, if it could be done. Obviously that had also been Han's first thought when he regained consciousness. That was why Han had put everything aside, his own health and safety, and ventured out into the desert.

Chewie sniffed again, to be sure. He could not smell blood at least. And he was picking out sounds. A choking despair, one he hadn't thought a human throat capable of. Yoda? No – too deep. He made his steps come faster. A Wookiee's eyesight was more acute than a human's, even in the dark, and he came upon them shortly.

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Something familiar, grand and noble, was approaching. Leia knew that presence, the trust and support, and after all that had happened she always wanted it part of her life. Leia tore her gaze away from Vader and his struggle. "Chewie's coming," she told Han. She saw by the reflection of starlight that his eyes were open. She wondered if he'd heard what she had said to Vader.

"Vader….don't… sound so… good," he managed to say.

Leia put her warm hand on his cheek. He was shivering. "Neither do you," she said.

"I have a..." Han breathed, "….good excuse. Been shot."

Luke turned to Yoda. "Do we take Vader back to the ship?" He heard a faint sound of protest from Han and smiled faintly.

"Remove my helmet," Vader rasped. "But -" Luke was confused. "But you won't be able to breathe. Will you?"

"Leave me."

Luke shook his head. "No," he told Vader. There were so many reasons he would stay by Vader's side. He wasn't sad, but he was regretful. He had no empathy for Vader, yet he felt pity. This wasn't his father, but he would stay by his side as his son. "If anything, there needs to be a witness," he said.

He crouched beside Leia, who had taken a blanket from Chewie and was spreading it over Han. "I'm going to stay out here, with him," he told her. "I'm going to see it through to the end." He knew Leia wouldn't. She didn't need to. She'd had a father.

Bail Organa had raised her, trained her, loved her. Luke was raised by his uncle, and they had not had a very close relationship. He'd always wondered why. Had he not been lovable? Was he unwanted? But he knew now, finally. His uncle had known the identity of Luke Skywalker's father. And he'd raised Luke with the shadow of Darth Vader always in the way. And so every time Luke wanted to go the pod races, every time he wanted to be with friends, every time he brought up going to the academy, he'd been given a flat no. Uncle Owen had been afraid Luke would grow up and become his father. He had been protecting Luke. He saw that now. _Thank you, Uncle Owen. I wish you had told me_.

Luke squeezed Leia's hand. "You go back with Han", he told her. Something was in her eyes, an uncertainty, a doubt. "I'll be fine," he reassured her. Wordlessly they read each other, their wants and desires taking them in different directions. Finally she nodded and moved off to signal to Chewie.

She sat on the repulsor cart, Han's arm wrapped tightly around her hips and his head burrowed in her lap. The rest walked the relatively short distance back to the _Falcon._

The stars were brilliant, the air crisp; clear and cold. Leia looked up at the sky and thought it fitting that this sky would be the one to bear witness. This ancient, timeless sky. It observed and accepted. The sands blew under it, shaping the desert in numerous ways over the years. _Take your sons, Tatooine_ , Leia told the sky. _One has returned_. She felt Tatooine understood the importance of the event. There was a hush, a dignified vigilance she had not been aware of before. Tonight would see the end of Darth Vader.

 


	24. Chapter 24

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Luke asked.

"What do you mean by help?" Vader retorted hostilely.

Luke nodded. Sometimes words different meanings. Vader was dying. There was no stopping it. How did one help? One could help the mortal or assist death itself. Luke could end it quickly, both for Vader and himself. Or he could make Vader comfortable. Maybe he could use the Force, slow the process. Luke smiled to himself. He had an image of Yoda flying out of the space ship, sensing Luke enabling Vader's survival and rushing out to make Luke stop.

There was no satisfaction in this. That's what Luke really wanted, a way to feel he could live with this for the rest of his life. He was alive, as were Han and Leia, and Vader was stopped, but there didn't seem a way that rectified all his mixed emotions and misgivings.

After closing the blanket around his shoulders a little tighter, Luke sat down with some apprehension in the sand. He'd never watched a person die before. He'd come across the corpses of his aunt and uncle, charred remains forever failing at fleeing their burning home. The image was seared into his brain. He didn't quite know about burns or smoke inhalation; he didn't know what it felt like to die like that. It was worse that he knew their last thoughts, that the final moments before death were horrible; filled with terror. He knew that.

Before a battle while he and the other pilots waited there was nervous, idle chatting. Death was nearby, and everyone knew it, but not knowing who it would claim kept them from speaking about it. The presence of death made them uncomfortable, superstitious; prevented them from sharing last thoughts. In the cockpits his friends had died suddenly and explosively. He knew their last thoughts too, and it was never about death. It was about adrenalin, about scoring a kill, about Rebel against Imperial and who was the better pilot. When Death claimed them their last thought was usually uttered as a bitterly wrung curse, perhaps a scream.

Bodies were mortal; the Force was immortal. The Force was existence, but the Force let things pass out of existence. It was an interesting notion. Worlds were forever changing because of the different beings passing through time. _Like this desert,_ Luke reflected. _The winds pile the sand up, and then they take it down again. It's never the same._

The Force was going to take Vader, and he was not fighting it. He was calm. He did not seem to be in much pain. Luke wondered if that was a difference between living and dying. Was it the struggle to live, the desire, that caused pain? Had Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru been in terrible pain, because they wanted to live so badly? If they had foreseen the outcome, would they have lain down, inhaled the smoke and died quietly?

Recently Luke had been shot in the hip by a bounty hunter. It hadn't been a life-threatening injury, but he remembered how it had hurt. Gods, how it hurt! Burned, throbbed, ached. He had never been in fear for his life, but recalled gasping out to Han, who treated him, _"gods, let me die!_ " He'd wanted relief from the pain. He barely remembered Han's response, something about being happy to knock him out, but not let him die. Han must have given him a sedative, because he didn't remember much after that.

Involuntarily, Luke's head turned to where the skiffs were parked, though he couldn't see them. He'd almost watched Han die. He pictured Han on the deck, that struggle for life. It had been intense for Luke and Leia to watch. Luke inhaled deeply, thinking. He knew his aunt and uncle's last thoughts, knew what was racing through the minds of his fellow pilots, but couldn't begin to guess Han's. Maybe it was shock, another physical state Luke didn't know much about.

Han was lucky to be alive. His aunt and uncle hadn't been lucky. No one had been nearby to help them. Storm troopers had orders and watched them burn. Han was surrounded by friends.

Vader coughed, a short, wet cough. Luke's gaze turned to him. Things would be very different right now, Luke realized, if Han had died. Luke had no doubt the day was supposed to end with Leia taking Vader's life. She had taken it with a pronouncement so unexpected that Vader turned the Force against himself. She had used her love for Han. Love in the Force, whether Light or Dark, had the power to save or destroy. She and Vader were proof of that.

He'd helped Vader remove the helmet. There had been a rush of air and a brief quiet before Vader's own tired lungs attempted to oxygenate his body. Vader's face, pale from years behind a helmet, hairless and scarred, was crusted with flecks of vomit. Luke had opened his flask of water Chewie had left for him and used Vader's cape to wash the skin clean. Now he settled in for the duration, uncertain how long it would take, uncertain of what to expect.

Though he had lived here most of his life, Luke was unfamiliar with Tatooine's night. He and Leia had walked to Jabba's palace before daylight, and it had been quiet and cold. Tatooinians generally regarded it as a dangerous time of day. Temperatures dropped and predators roamed. When he'd lived on the farm he'd spent the nights safely ensconced in the comfortable environs of the home that Aunt Beru created. Even when he'd sneaked out to meet friends, everyone knew to be back before dark.

Except for the rattling breath, Vader was quiet. His eyes were open and staring at the night sky. Luke decided not to ask again if he was comfortable, or offer to make him more comfortable.

He began to feel foolish, the two of them silent. If Vader died now Luke would still wonder about things for the rest of his life. He took a big breath and decided to forge on. If conversation sped the process then so be it.

Luke edged forward a little bit, to put himself better in Vader's line of sight, and to alert him of his presence. "So where was your home here?" he asked.

Vader blinked. It had been a long time since anyone had asked him a question; since anyone showed an interest in him. He tested speaking. "In Mos Espa." He wasn't used to the sound of his voice without the modulator. It was raspy and weak, but clear enough and it didn't hurt to speak.

"Ah," Luke answered. "I lived outside Mos Espa. Where the moisture farming was."

Vader nodded. He'd been to the Lars homestead before.

"How does it feel to be back on Tatooine?" Luke cursed himself for the inane line of questioning. Vader had returned, they both knew, for Luke. Not to take him as his son but to bring him to the Emperor as the dark Force's prize.

"It was a hard life," Vader told him, not really answering the question.

"I know what you mean," Luke said, warmed by Vader's participation. "I couldn't wait to leave. But now that I'm back a part of me was kind of happy to see the desert again."

"It feels familiar," Vader put in.

"Yes, exactly."

Vader was wracked with a cough. Luke leaned over, peering in his face, and Vader lifted a hand. "It is no matter," he told Luke.

"Well, take it easy maybe," Luke said. "How long do - I mean, does it – how long will it take? To, um, to die?"

"You'll know soon enough. I feel lucid right now."

"Do you feel the Force? Dark or Light?"

"Just the Force. A combination of the two. It is life and death. Existence."

Luke nodded. "I feel it now, out here. It's…," he faltered, as he always did, when searching for a word, "...special. How is it there's a blend? Why did you follow dark and I follow light? How are they separated?"

"It is character, I think. What one wants to make of one's life. I knew a Jedi who was neither."

Luke considered. "Hmm. Obi-Wan?" "Obi-Wan was my master. He feared the Dark."

"He came to me," Luke confessed. "In Force form. Just recently. He told me how to find Yoda. Instigated all..." Luke waved his hand…."this," aware it was a huge understatement. Obi-Wan wanted him to train with Yoda, but through him Luke had found Han, gained a sister, understood the past. Quietly Luke bowed before the Force. "Will you see Obi-Wan?"

"I am not sure. I would like to."

"Would you?"

"Yes. I would like him to know some things." Vader couldn't say he pinpointed his undoing at the reappearance of his master, but their last meeting had been far from satisfactory. They had engaged in pointless banter, and then Obi-Wan let himself be struck down. Vader had wanted to tell him things as soon as Kenobi's mortal body disappeared into the Force.

"He told us death changes one's perspective. That things the living find desperately important have no significance at all."

"That will be my hell."

"What will?" Vader sucked in desert air. "To learn what I strove for was meaningless. How much I wasted."

"You mean us. Me and Leia. What _did_ happen to you? Why did you fall? Did you know you were going to be a father?"

"Yes, I knew." Vader sighed; the memories, the joy, would kill him faster than his failing body. "I had foreseen my wife's death, in childbirth, as I told you."

"What was my mother's name?"

"Padme Naberrie. I met her here. She was with Obi-Wan, escaping detention on her homeworld." Vader paused to swallow. "Have you ever loved anything so much it consumed you?"

This was the longest Vader had spoken since the removal of his helmet and now he felt a difference. He became lightheaded. Little flares of silver light drifted before his eyes and his hearing became muffled.

"I can't say I have," Luke answered. He thought about a consuming love. It sounded extreme. "I'm only twenty-two."

"I was that young." Luke couldn't say he'd ever been in love. He'd explored relationships, but not with the depth of feeling that Leia exhibited toward Han. And he her. Their love had an odd, quirky start, and it grew in a halting, slow process. Leia was not consumed. She had been terrified of Han dying, but had only expended efforts to keep him alive. She had not bargained with the Force, nor surrendered a part of herself for him.

"Leia's in love," Luke said. He was sure Leia would be so angry at him if she knew he was telling Vader this. "But it doesn't consume her. Like when you shot Han, if he died it would have been a terrible blow, but she's strong enough to accept it. She'd have let him go."

Luke lapsed into silence. It hurt to let go, he knew that. He'd left Tatooine so quickly after finding his aunt and uncle, and it still bothered him how the distance of traveling to the Death Star, to Yavin, symbolized how fast he had moved on with his life. "You should have let my mother go," he told Vader. "You would have memories, like anyone else who lost a loved one. It's what we're left with." He was thinking of himself and his aunt and uncle, of his pilot friends, and of Leia and shrugged a little. "What made you so different you had to cheat death?"

"I couldn't live without her."

"Yet you have." There was quiet blame in Luke's voice. Vader had nothing to say. "Were you always like that? Consumed by stuff?"

Vader's fading mind drifted. Consumed….his bondage consumed him. The Jedi freed him and he let their training consume him, take him so many places and in so many situations that he was on the brink of a soul in exhaustion. Then Padme…her fire, brilliance, beauty. He could never get enough of her, the feel of her skin, her hair, the look in her eyes, the smell and taste of her. He wanted her next to him, always, and when he was away he would look to his side, missing something, like the phantom pain of a lost limb.

Luke was overcome by Vader's longing for Padme, even now.

"I should have given up the Order," Vader said. He saw Luke nod. "I would have my family, my wife. I would live with joy and love."

"You were always so bold," Luke told him. "Why were you afraid to give up the ways of the Jedi?"

"I couldn't see anything else for me. It was my identity. That is me, Luke. All or nothing."

"But just because you wouldn't be a Jedi doesn't mean you wouldn't have the Force." Again, Luke was blaming Vader. He was responsible for this. For his dead wife, his lost children, for the galaxy collapsing under the weight of a massive, psychotic ego. "I didn't know I had the Force til Ben told me," he continued. "I didn't know what it was, how I could do things; fly better, shoot better. But if I were to give it all up right now, go back to being a farmer, I know the Force would be there."

Vader attempted a breath and coughed up fluid again. There was a wryness to his tone, however, that told Luke he was still very active in the conversation. "Would you? Give it up and be a farmer?"

Luke smiled. "No. I'm just surprised you'd think it would abandon you."

"I told you. I am consumed." Earnestness made Luke lean forward more. "I have the benefit of hindsight. Something was going on, when you were a Jedi. You and Yoda and Ben. I know Yoda is hundreds of years old, so I can't say it's a generational thing, but it's a …. it's a…. era thing. Decade. I don't know – I'm not real good with words. I have this protocol droid and he helps me. But, something about the Clone Wars. You all became in effective."

"It was Palpatine. And the Dark Side."

"Alright, maybe that was it. But Ben and Yoda stopped acting. They stopped attempting change, they stopped-

"I did, too."

" -how? You became a Sith Lord."

"And you said as much. I have not accomplished anything. I am supposed to have my wife, a galaxy of peace. He promised me all those."

"Well." Luke nodded. "I see it as kind of a veil covered you all, kept you from seeing what could be." He swept his palm over the sand where he sat, smoothed it. He could see the outline of his fingers in the sand, faintly raised grooves.

"I want you to know what I intend to do," he continued. "What I hope will happen. I'm going after Palpatine. I think I can do it. But if not, someone will. If the Republic fell after thousands of years, then one man, Sith Lord or not, will fall, sooner or later. He will." Luke was convinced of this. More than anything. "So I'll be the first to try."

"I would like to be there when you do."

"I know." It hit Luke then, what he was losing. What he could never have. What should have been. "I'm sure you'll know, when it happens."

"Perhaps."

"And," this was a bit more difficult to say, "there's no hope for you. You know that, right? In life, in death. You are Darth Vader. You'll be vilified. You are responsible for so many deaths, so many."

"Yes."

"You know, Yoda told me the history. About the attack on the Temple, the Padawans." Luke shook his head. He did every time he thought of the slaughter of the Jedi children. It was inconceivable. "It was so …," _I need 3PO again,_ "barbaric. What you did."

Vader made no response.

"But, it's hard to really comprehend it. I can't take it inside and make it mine. Yoda does. He draws the burning Temple all the time with his walking stick in the earth. I can't fathom what happened to Alderaan. I know it, intellectually. But emotionally… it's too big. It's different for Leia. But I have one moment that stands out for me, how.. what your legacy is. Summed up in one action."

Vader waited.

"The moment you shot Han."

"I see."

"Yes."

"You want me to say I'm sorry? For him? Would it forgive all the others as well?"

"No, it won't. I know you aren't sorry. Not really. You've lost that. But, at least I know you couldn't do it again, could you? If you miraculously got up and walked away, could you shoot him again? Could you kill the Padawans? For the reasons you did?"

"No."

Luke was satisfied. "That's what I thought."

"It's not enough though, is it? For someone like Leia."

"No. I don't think Leia will ever get over it. She's coping. She's mourning; herself and everything. She'll laugh again some day. But she won't ever be the same." Luke thought that while he could never forgive Vader his crimes, he had come to an understanding of his flawed character, to the point he could understand why. But Leia could never take that viewpoint. To her, he was evil incarnate, and he always would be. Luke could understand her, too. But that was why Vader would be a monster of history. There were too many like Leia in the galaxy. "At least you take responsibility," Luke concluded.

They were silent long moments. Vader was now actively dying. He had shifted from participating in the discussion to becoming withdrawn, internal. There were things he was thinking and feeling that Luke would never know. Either he lacked the energy or it was something Luke would never be able to understand while he was still alive. So Luke talked. He told Vader about his childhood on Tatooine. Vader didn't vocalize anything but Luke could tell he was listening, grateful for a glimpse into the son he never had.

"Thank you," Vader whispered finally.

"Thank you?" Luke echoed. "For talking. For washing my face."

"You're welcome," Luke said quietly. He heard the death rattle.

Vader's lips moved, but it seemed to Luke he was talking more to himself. "….kind…." Vader breathed his last word. His black body suit, thick with controls, insulation, piping and wires, emptied. His physical form had melded with the Force.

Luke wondered what Vader meant when he said 'kind.' Sometimes words had different meanings.

He picked up the body suit and walked back to the ship.


	25. Chapter 25

Leia's head was lowered, her fingers absently drumming lightly on Han's head in her lap. She was looking without seeing. Her active mind had left Luke back there, in the sand, on his vigil, and she was forecasting ahead, making a mental list. Morning would come quickly. They would bring the freed slaves to the space port, and the others from Jabba's palace would also be there. She needed to contact Carlist Rieekan as soon as possible and arrange a shuttle. The beings would need food and drink; Leia would need credits.

It occurred to her the small drama of what happened at Jabba's palace was a little like the civil war she was also fighting, though on a much smaller scale. Jabba was a minor Emperor, one individual seizing control and making others conform to their own conceit. Wherever Jabba's crime syndicate reached, it had caused death, injury, and bondage to hundreds of beings. Now his reign of terror was ended, and a whole new set of problems had been created. What to do with the injured, the enslaved? The issues stretched on. There would need to be physical rehabilitation programs, mental health assessments and continuing counseling for the horrors the victims had seen. If the victims wished to return to their homeworlds there was the issue of transporting them and providing housing. If not, they would need job assistance and skills training. Leia sighed. They had freed perhaps less than a hundred at the palace. Providing for them was going to be quite costly, and the programs were not in place yet to divert funds. Carlist Rieekan was not going to be too happy.

And yet, the Hutt's crime world was defeated. Maybe, Leia emended. Her gaze pulled out of the uncertainty of the future and back to Han, real and present. He had mentioned someone would move in; perhaps Jabba's clansmen, and the seedy underworld would rise again, almost without missing a beat. She would like to settle it for good. It was something she would have to ruminate on.

Chewie moved the repulsor cart into the Falcon's cargo lift and she had a new viewpoint of the ship from the wide cart. Thick, insulating rubber encasing wires stretched the length of the ship; large pipes, of whose purpose Leia had no clue, ran along the floor. Chewie made to lift Han and he moaned and tightened his hold on Leia.

"Come on, Han," Chewie rumbled softly. "Back to medbay with you." He had to tug on Han, who resisted by clinging to Leia, and he was afraid of hurting him. "I think he'd rather stay with you," he told Leia.

Leia smiled. "Time to let go, Han," she told him. Gently she pried his wrist from around her hip. "You can hug me later." His grip loosened a little and she took the opportunity to slide her legs out from under his head.

"Hey," he protested weakly.

"I'll get the needles," Leia told Chewie. The repulsor cart was stored below where crew lived and operated the Falcon. Even using the service lift it was a fairly long walk and Leia was amazed Maranya had been able to help keep him standing for so long.

She returned to the medbay where Chewie was applying new bandages on Han's chest. He appeared to be asleep. In the brighter light she noticed his face was very pale. She looked around the small room. "Where's the medic?" she asked, puzzled.

Chewie didn't look up from his task. "In a storage bay."

"Don't we have everything here now? What's he looking for?"

Chewie grunted. "Freedom, probably."

Leia raised her eyebrows. "Freedom?"

"He's locked in."

"Chewie! Whatever for?"

"His spirit does not climb on its own."

Leia tried to work the Wookiee adage out. "You mean, he needs something to boost his mind?"

"Spice. He's a spice addict."

Leia let out a groan of dismay.

"Yes. And I let him work on Han. Just what we need, trembling hands trying to find a vein. He's locked in the storage bay to detox."

Leia closed her eyes and clenched her hands. Silently she added a new social ill to the list she compiled earlier. _Drug reform_.

"There's no way he's coming near anyone," Chewie declared grimly.

"How long does it take to detox? Should we bring him to the medcenter too? Another patient?" _This is going to cost a fortune_. "Is there anything they give to spice addicts to help with withdrawal? I really don't know much about it." I've led a very sheltered life. Seeing the former slaves, obviously malnourished and many deformed, had opened her eyes to just how cruel life could be. It gave her a sense of incompleteness as Senator, as if she barely scratched the surface of an issue, and it gave her an appreciation for her family, rooted in love and safety.

Chewie eyed her thoughtfully. "There is. A manufactured drug. It fools the body, without the high or addictive properties."

"Maybe we can get some of that for him."

"It isn't cheap."

"Nothing is, is it?" Leia sighed in frustration.

"Here." Chewie tossed her the tattered vest Han had been wearing at Jabba's. "Check the pockets."

She'd noticed weight in the pockets before, when she clutched dully at his vest in their first efforts at treating him. She'd thought it was sand. She reached in, her eyes brightening at Chewie when she realized what it was. "Credits!"

"You know Han, always thinking money. I noticed he was cleaning out the dead in the palace."

 _Use it to finance your Rebellion_. He had said as much in one of her dreams. She shook her head in amazement, wondering how much more of her dreams would return when she was awake. She moved to Han, and unwrapped the sterile packaging of needles. "I can do this," she told Chewie. "Even just a few hours will help until we get him to the medcenter." Han's breathing still sounded odd; loud, raspy; finishing with a hiss. She wondered about the gravity of the injury. The medic had called it a laceration, she recalled. She went through synonyms and medical conditions as she tried to steady herself to insert the needle. Puncture, tear, perforation, pierce, stab... _stop_. But her mind continued to drift. She compared the noise of Han's struggled aspirations to Vader's regulated breaths. Vader would probably be dead long ago if it weren't for his mechanical lungs. She did not wish for permanent damage to Han. She did not want to be reminded of Vader.

She rubbed his inner arm, trying to bring up a vein. "Did the medic disable the tracker?" she asked conversationally.

"I believe so."

"Good." She closed his fist, squeezing his fingers. His hands were so much larger than hers. She opened his fist, just to see, and even with his fingers curled in a relaxed state her fingers only reached his second knuckle.

The vein was ready. She took a deep breath and without taking her eyes off his arm told Chewie, "Let's hope I get this first try. I haven't done it in a while."

In just a moment she saw she was successful. She capped off the drip line, creating the vacuum and stopping the flow of blood. "Chewie, could you please hook up the bags? I'm going to use C-3PO. I need to contact base."

Chewie had finished wrapping Han and was looking gravely into his face. He nodded, and spoke. "Princess, in the morning, I am going to do something."

"What, Chewie?" Leia asked in alarm. Chewie was so serious, almost hesitant. She thought fleetingly _you can't leave._

"I'm going to take the skiff back to Jabba's. A Wookiee plunders. It brings the greatest shame to the defeated."

She stared at him, remembering the holos of Wookiee lifestyle in his locker. Chewie's companions all wore something around their necks, while Chewie's was bare. _Spoils of war_ , she realized. "What will you take?" she asked.

"Whatever is found. Don't worry, I won't maim the dead or fight anymore. Unless it's in defense."

Leia had an inspiration. "Wait right here. I have something for you." She ran to her quarters, searching through her things. She grabbed a jacket that bore the insignia of the Rebel Alliance and went to the tool box to cut it off with a sharp blade. She brought it back to Chewie.

"Here," she proffered the insignia to him. "I want you to claim the palace, and all interests Jabba held, in the name of the Rebel Alliance. This is for you. Strike territory for us. I have a bigger one we can make into a flag. As a member of the High Council, I appoint you acting general of former Hutt territory. Take charge, General Chewbacca."

They saluted each other with broad grins, reveling in their forged bond as co-conspirators and victors.

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Leia dreamed she could see her reflection in the shiny, impersonal floors of the Death Star. They turned a corner and a wide expanse of sand spread before them, glittering and white. Gentle rolls of dunes were to either side. There was sunshine, warm and glowing.

Han sat down on it and immediately lay on his back, arms over his head in a languid stretch. He sighed with pleasure. "Alderaan again, huh?" he asked her, eyes playful.

She smiled and nodded, tears forming in her own eyes.

Han pulled her down beside him. "It gets bigger and bigger," he commented. He wiped a tear from her cheek. "Soon it will be bigger than this space station."

"Do you think so? I would think for Alderaan to be remembered, what destroyed it would be remembered too."

"Yeah, but this is just a weapon. Alderaan was a whole lot more." Han began to scoop the warm sand into a mound.

"Just a weapon," she repeated, trying to see if speaking the words made it smaller.

"Just a weapon, Sweetheart. I didn't go to Alderaan much – not enough crime."

Leia smiled. "Thank you," she said.

"Sure, take it as a compliment. But I know Alderaanian ale. And nerf steaks. Delicious, right? And those kinds of weaving, with the stories and the animals in the forest -"

"Tapestries." As he spoke, an image of each item floated above his head, as if he were delivering a presentation. Leia watched them float idly in the air until they disappeared.

"Right, those. At the Academy they danced the waltzes all the time. Classics. I have puzzle gems in the _Falcon's_ hold -"

She swatted his arm, openly crying. "Alright, I get it."

He patted the little mound of sand he'd created. "So let's make a sand castle. I'll get some water."

"Hey guys," Luke appeared. "Whatcha doing? Nice sand castle."

Leia looked at it, marveling at her creation, and she hadn't even been aware she built it. But she had; it had the mark of Organa all over it. It had tall spires, and fabric flags flapped in the breeze, making it hard to see the Rebel insignia.

"I disabled the garbage masher," Luke announced.

"That's great, Luke!" She gave him a hug.

"So now we'll be able to leave finally," he added.

Leia looked out over the expanse of sand, beautiful like a tiara, and once again was overcome with a mournful desire. She thought they'd been escaping all this time but it had been comforting to discover Alderaan in unexpected places. "Don't you want to stay here forever?" she asked them wistfully.

"Well, we'd be dead," Han said matter-of-fact, still working on the sand castle. "But if that's what you want."

 _Dead_? Something niggled at her, bringing her to wakefulness. "Dead?"

Leia woke with a gasp. _Please don't be dead_. She had fallen asleep in the medbay, sitting on a stool, her body slumped forward to rest her head uncomfortably on Han's forearm. Her temple and cheek that had rested on him was sweaty. Tentatively, scared of what she might see, she risked looking at his face. Then she checked the medscan. She thought her dream might be a warning. "Han?" she called softly, trying to wake him. She repeated it several times, bending his arm at the elbow, bringing his hand to her cheek.

Chewie poked his head in. "Is he alright? Anything happen?"

"No, I…," Leia felt a little sheepish. "I had a dream. He said he would be dead in it, and it woke me up. It...I know it's foolish. But it scared me."

"One sun is risen. Yoda and I have eaten." Chewie moved into the small room and placed his huge hand on Han's head. "He's seeing to the freed ones now." Chewie lowered his mouth to Han's ear and rumbled, deeply and softly. The sound filled the room and Leia couldn't say that it issued from Chewie's mouth.

"How are you doing that?" Leia asked. Chew pointed to his throat. "Wookiee song. We vibrate the second larynx. It's for soothing, and sleep. It reaches when normal speech can't."

Leia saw with relief that Chewie had indeed reached Han. Though his eyes were still closed, his brows had knit and his mouth pouted. Chewie made the noise again, the note higher, and now his eyelids were blinking rapidly.

"Is Luke back?" Leia asked suddenly. "Yes, he returned a few hours ago. He's getting some sleep."

Leia felt guilty she hadn't been around when Luke returned. Quickly she kissed Han's forehead. "I'll get ready for the skiff trip."

"Skiff," Han stirred. "Luke has…," his voice started to trail off, but Leia shook her head in humored disbelief. She could have sworn she heard the committed spacer mumble "nice planet." Luke had never had anything good to say about Tatooine.

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Luke ventured out to the lounge, feeling bleary. It had been a long night. Vader's suit was in his quarters, brought back in the still of the night cycle of the ship when everyone was asleep.

He felt fine, if anyone bothered to ask, but he felt like he'd been through an other-worldly experience that no one could begin to understand.

Chewie had been dozing in the cockpit, Leia with Han in the medbay. Luke had checked the monitors on Han and let them be. Yoda was on the gaming couch. Now, as he stumbled out of his own cabin, there was the smell of caf and Yoda sat upright, his ever-present walking stick held erect in his hands. Leia was across from him, her hands cupping a mug and a faraway look in her eye. She broke out of her reverie when she saw him and rose to greet him swiftly.

"Luke," she said softly, squeezing him in a powerful hug.

"Hi, Leia," he told her. "I'm so sorry I wasn't with you -"

"No, it's okay." He pushed her gently out of their embrace. "We had one who needed help dying and one who needed help living, and that was your job." He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but didn't feel very cheerful. "I checked on you two when I got back; vitals weren't bad."

"Are you coming into town with us?"

"Yeah. But I want to talk with the freed slaves. Are there any from Tatooine, do you know? I know the desert; I can take them home if they want to go."

Yoda made a noise. Brother and sister looked at him expectantly. "Chewbacca asked me, how with the desert I was," Yoda said. "Now, the answer I have. A deplorable place, it is. Envy you I do not," he proclaimed to Luke, "over this sand to journey."

"But it's a wonderful idea," Leia said. She appraised him, sensing Luke needed a homecoming as much as a freed slave. She switched gears. "I comm'd Rieekan. A shuttle should arrive in two days. I'm going to arrange for physicals for them, and lodging."

Luke nodded. "Good." Then he absorbed the weight of all she said. "Do we have credits for that?"

Leia smiled. "Yes. Our mercenary pilot was going through the pockets of corpses back in the palace."

Luke grinned back. "Always thinking with his wallet."

"Or blaster," she retorted quickly. "Or – no, I'm not going to say it," Luke said jokingly, and Leia whacked him lightly on the arm. Back with the vibrant and living, Luke began to feel like he was re-entering a world he had left behind.

"I've been busy planning our new government," Leia told Luke. "We haven't had too much focus on what happens post-victory. But I see now one department that needs to be set up immediately. How to help all the oppressed. Palpatine fostered such a pervasive culture of prejudice. We need to start combating it even now, before the war is over. I'm going to set up a trust with these funds, and some I hold."

Luke was impressed. "You're so positive."

"I am," she said frankly. "I've learned, since you introduced the Force to me, to not ignore anything it tries to tell me. "

"Me, too." He smiled at her, enjoying their bond. He'd been thinking of the future too, along similar lines, but as Leia was the seasoned politician, Luke wanted some more time alone with his thoughts and Master Yoda's before he tested them out loud.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When next Han awoke he was disappointed to not be looking at the ceiling of the _Falcon's_ medbay. He found Luke peering down at him. _Damn_ , he thought. _I died?_ _Weird looking afterlife_. The last thing Han remembered was Luke and Vader, lightsabers swinging. _Vader got Luke, too_. Luke looked awfully cheery, considering he had been defeated.

"Hi, Han," Luke said happily. Han blinked.

"What are you so happy 'bout?"

"I'm glad to see you alive."

"Thought I was dead." Han looked around some more. It was quite possible he was in a medcenter. He could breathe now, and there was no pain, but he felt groggy, drugged.

"Why do you think you're dead?"

"'Cause. You. Fightin' Vader."

Luke gave a forgiving smile. "And you were sure I'd lose? Actually I was winning until you came along and ruined everything," he said affectionately.

Han's eyes got a little wider. "You beat him?" Talking took a lot of energy and he decided to try to speak more economically.

"Leia did, actually."

Luke watched Han's attempt to grasp the concept.

"How?"

"I'll tell you later. I don't think you're up to hearing the whole story."

"Try me."

"No, you're not ready yet. But, you _could_ say she was just being herself."

Han shook his head once and closed his eyes. He was confused, and wasn't sure if Luke were talking in puzzles or he was just too drugged. "Can we go?" he asked.

"You just woke up! I think they want to see you eat and get out of bed by yourself before they let you go."

"You learned to use the Force?"

"I've been in training, yeah." Luke pulled the chair he was sitting in closer to Han's bed. "I'll tell you more of that story later, too."

"You can levitate me outta here," Han suggested, the corner of his mouth up just the slightest.

Luke smiled openly. "No, that would be cheating."

"I'm OK with cheating."

"Sometimes you are, Han. Sometimes not." Luke wore a serious expression on his face. Even absent from them for months, Luke had learned something about his friend. "Did you really tell Leia Tatooine was nice?"

"Huh?" Han looked into Luke's eyes, saw only earnest curiosity. Han felt so far behind, like Luke and Leia had raced ahead without him, and when they turned around to come back for him, they were wrong about being able to pick up where they had left off.

"Leia thought she heard you mutter that I had a nice planet."

Han tried to wave his hand but found a needle taped to the back of his hand and let it drop. "Delirium," he said. "But," he trailed off.

"Yeah…," Luke prompted

"There's a lot of color," Han tried to explain.

"It's pretty much just yellow," Luke told him. "Yellow sand, sky, suns."

"All sorts of yellow," Han sighed. "Pretty."

"Right," Luke said sarcastically. He had heard the Tusken Raiders had numerous terms for the color yellow in their language. For Luke, things had been the yellow of the sand, the yellow of the suns. That was about it.

Luke didn't get it, Han thought. "My cell was black. Couldn't see my hand. Not up or down." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. It would always be more than a memory. It would be a sensation; a sensation of futility and vulnerability he would hate the rest of his life. "Outside...so many ways to show one color."

For some reason his last sentence brought Luke back to his childhood. Maybe it was from all the stories he'd told Vader. He hadn't told him this one. He was perhaps a boy of five, lying on his stomach, legs bent at the knees, crossed ankles swinging above the floor. He was drawing with colored wax sticks. His picture was of an enormous Krayt Dragon, and down at the bottom of the page was a teeny stick figure with a sword. Luke saw it as clearly as if it were in front of him. He had been counting how many different colors of green were in the box, and complaining to Aunt Beru. There was no need, he'd insisted, and he could still hear his little-boy voice, for all those different colors of green. Green was green. Beru had told him he just didn't know green and that it must exist somewhere or else they wouldn't have made it. He'd left the sticks in the courtyard of their home and the suns melted them the next day. The colors had pooled together and Uncle Owen said he wouldn't buy another box until Luke took better care of things.

Luke sighed. He had spent his youth so eager to leave, to see other parts of the galaxy, that he had completely discounted what had been in front of his eyes the whole time. _Culture of prejudice_ , he heard Leia's knowledgeable voice say.

"Where's everyone?" Han whispered. His eyes were closed and he seemed near sleep.

"Chewie's at Jabba's," Luke answered. "He said he's plundering." He smiled as he saw Han's mouth quirk up again. "Leia's here. She's taking care of the refugees. Get some sleep, Han." Luke clasped Han's wrist briefly. "I'll bring her by later."

Luke waited a few moments until he was sure Han was truly asleep. Then he slipped out of the room quietly. He was looking forward to the speeder ride out to the desert. He was going to take some former slaves home, but he was going home, too. And he was going to look at all the colors for yellow.


	26. Chapter 26

Luke had two other passengers squeezed beside him in the speeder. Another moisture farmer, who'd been at Jabba's only two seasons. Young, once full of himself. He'd gone to market one day, stopped in a cantina, and bet poorly in a Sabacc game. Then he never came home. His family had reported him missing to the authorities. Not only had the authorities seen the same scenario played out countless times before, they were also on Jabba's payroll to not disturb the sand. They told the family he had probably been lost to the desert.

The mother had heard the speeder pull up. The men were out at the condenser units. On seeing her son the woman had wrung her hands and wept so hard she couldn't speak. Luke was happy for the freed man. He went to fetch the menfolk and they also were ecstatic. Sheer happiness welled like a spring, a rare thing in this community of hard-working farmers. Luke watched, a sadness pooling in his heart. The weeping mother could have been Beru. Sometimes it hit him like that. He observed the family's happiness, swallowing hard, feeling a little envious, very bittersweet. Then he looked over at Maranya and wondered what she would find.

She had told him how long she'd been gone, and the amount of time stunned him. And she hadn't disappeared in a foolish lapse of judgment. Her father had willingly turned her over to Jabba. Luke was surprised she asked to go to her homestead. If it were him, he'd turn his back on the family that turned theirs on her.

The freed slave's family invited them for lunch, but Luke declined with thanks, saying he needed to get Maranya to her homestead. He thought first he would go to his own. Maranya needed to be prepared. She had seen a happy ending, but she needed to be ready in case hers ended differently.

She rode beside him now in the front seat, a blissful look on her face. She was enjoying the fresh air. It reminded Luke of what Han had said about all the colors of yellow.

Six years, Luke thought. What a hell of a long time. Leia had showed Maranya the luxury of the water shower in the 'fresher and shared with her some of her own underclothing, as well as one of Han's shirts to wear. Another one in Han's clothing, Luke smiled to himself. Han would get a kick out of that.

Maranya had gaped stupidly at Leia's hair, brought down from winding coils around her head and fashioned in a simple braid hanging down her back. Leia had felt bad about Maranya's tangled mats, and attempted to comb them out, and even Chewie had helped, but in the end they shaved it fairly close to her scalp. Maranya kept running her hands over her head. Her jaw was another issue. It had been broken recently and poorly set, so the lower jaw jutted out in an under-bite. It would need to be re-broken and then set with the bone knitter, but they thought they would wait until they got all the freed slaves to a medical facility.

She wasn't much company, Luke thought, but that was okay. He was preoccupied with his own thoughts. She didn't understand the give and take of conversation, and talk swiftly came to a halt. She also seemed to have no opinions on things, which was beginning to drive Luke a little crazy, but he was careful not to push her and maintained his patience casting a net outward with the Force.

They passed the Darklighter farm, which still looked well-tended to and lived-in. He knew they should stop in, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

His heart stopped in his throat and he slowed the speeder. Maranya sat up and looked about.

"Yours?" she asked, and he nodded.

The Lars homestead, Luke's childhood home, was still a burnt out shell of its former self. No one had claimed it; nor had anyone cared for it. It presented itself, a moment in time, blackened, desolate, lonely. Luke jumped out of the speeder and began to walk around. First to the work shed, where the droids were housed and Owen had let Luke set up a private room for himself. Here young Luke had built models of space ships, used macro binoculars to scan for ships and Raiders, or hung out with a couple of friends sneaking flavored water. He walked around picking up tools, rubbing his hands over droids long inactive.

Maranya followed him silently. The moved from the shed to the hangar for his speeder and other farm vehicles. The wind seemed to move the sand from north to south and large piles of sand gathered before the harvester.

Next Luke wandered to his house, his heart beating hard in his chest. _Why am I so nervous_ he asked himself. _It's not like I'm going to see a ghos_ t. But his hands were sweaty. The exterior wall of the utility room, where Beru did the sonic cleansing, had collapsed.

The fire had started in the living room. Luke walked around the perimeter of the room. He knew which way his aunt and uncle would have run. He traced their path, through the kitchen, up the steps, outside to where he had found their bodies. It must have been a raging blaze; it wasn't far from room to exit. Luke, now knowledgeable in Imperial methods, surmised they'd used a fire hose. Probably had washed it over Beru and Owen as they stood in the living room, being questioned.

Then Luke came back inside, Maranya on his heels as always. The food pantry still had food, unbelievably. None of it edible. Luke picked up a loaf of bread and hammered it against the shelf. It was like stone, harder even. Like metal. All the moisture gone. His adoptive parents' bedroom was next. The bed cover hit Luke with a powerful nostalgia. It was red. Beru had been proud of it. He brushed sand off it. How did sand get back even here? It angered him. He went to the utility closet and got a broom and began to dust the bed. He returned the broom to its place; it was important somehow, that everything be put back the way he found it. He made to leave.

"Take it with you," Maranya said.

Luke shook his head. "It doesn't mean anything anymore."

"You took care of it," she argued mildly. He pressed his lips together and folded the cover back, the navy quilting raising a lump in his throat. He remembered being sick once, and Beru wrapping her prized bed cover around him, letting him cocoon and watch holos all day on their bed. He sighed shakily and Maranya folded it up.

He didn't go to his own bedroom. That person had turned into someone else, and he didn't want to visit. They returned to the speeder, Maranya hugging the bed cover and he brooding in the pilot seat. It was very hot, but he didn't start the speeder up. He stared sightlessly at the steering wheel, seeing something else.

"It may be like this at your house," he told her. "There may be no one, or no one who wants you, or..."

"Solo told me to come," she said and Luke looked at her in surprise.

"He did?" Maranya nodded. "He said when I was free I could go anywhere. That I should come and yell at my father for selling me."

The childish honesty of Han's statement made Luke stifle a laugh. "That sounds like something Han would say," he told Maranya.

"I would like to yell at him, if he is there."

Luke nodded, sober again. "Alright." He put the speeder in gear. "Do you remember where it is?"

Maranya pointed. "Solo said my father was bad."

Luke considered it. From her pint of view, yes, certainly. Selling your child…. Luke couldn't imagine himself doing it. "I'm sure it was complicated," he tried to assure her. "You were how old? Maybe you didn't know all the details."

"I was twelve." Six years, Luke thought again. Glancing at her he tried to gauge her age. She didn't look eighteen. She wasn't young, but nor was she old. Aged, not as much in body as spirit. "I'm sure it broke his heart to sell you."

She stared at him with her unsettling under-bite but said nothing.

No one was at her homestead. Unlike Luke's, which remained a beacon of warning, of bad luck and befallen evil, hers just seemed abandoned. There was no furniture, no bedding, no food; no sign of life.

"Where are they?" she asked, clearly disappointed.

"I don't know." Luke shook his head. They had probably skipped out on their note, fled the planet in a hurry and left their daughter behind.

"They are gone," she stated. As Luke had done, she wandered through all the rooms. He waited for her outside. After a few moments he thought she should be done by now and went to find her. Then he heard it: a loud, wailing scream, similar to the predatory pack animals that roamed the desert. She stood in a room of her house and screamed. She howled wordlessly and then she threw curses at the four walls. Luke let her. When she was done, which happened as quickly as it had begun, they returned to the speeder and drove back to the space port. Maranya dozed, drained of interest in the desert.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Leia stepped out of the holoconference center and rubbed her neck, searching for Luke. She spied him fairly quickly and he moved to join her. He handed her a satchel.

He forewent a greeting, knowing each other too well. "How'd it go?" he asked.

Leia's eyes went to Maranya. The shuttle had arrived and taken the other Freed Ones to the base at Sullust. Both she and Luke knew there was a strong probability she would find no home to go to, but they decided she could fly with them instead of holding up the shuttle. She also seemed to know Han and he her, though she hadn't quite worked out how. "Hi Maranya," she said, careful to greet her and show societal propriety. The girl gave no reaction.

Leia waited a heartbeat before resuming her conversation with Luke. "Fairly well," Leia told Luke, taking the satchel from him. She'd spent the last few hours in a lengthy meeting with Mon Mothma, booked at a holoconference center that could protect their location. They had ordered encryption for the holo of Mothma, but it was basic code and probably easily cracked if the Empire got their hands on it. Leia wasn't concerned. They were discussing reform and refugees, not secret battle plans or codes. Leia was pleased with her role in the conference. She was evolving; moving from spy to Council member, to representative of the future government.

They started walking, the sandy streets full of passersby, dewbacks tethered to posts, and speeders docked wherever their owners stopped them. Leia found the port rather haphazardly organized, with little planning. There were few municipal regulations, especially a glaring lack of traffic control, but she had been pleased to locate a secure holoconference center, and she felt good about the medical care Han had received.

They were on their way to discharge him from the medcenter. It was another homecoming, an important one.

"The generals weren't too pleased to divert funds from arms developments," Leia continued, "but Mothma was a Senator too and knows what we're up against. When we win, if we don't have a system in place for the displaced, there's going to be more uprisings and chaos. It'll mean a rocky start to the new government," she pushed the button to activate the medcenter's entrance and she and Luke moved through with ease and familiarity, "and we can't afford to have former Imperials raise charges of ineptitude and disorganization."

Luke nodded. Moments like this served to illuminate the difference in their upbringing. Leia was raised in the public eye, tutored thoroughly in philosophy, history, political science and diplomacy. She was royalty, lived in a palace, and attended banquets where ethics were debated as hotly as the Alderaanian waltzes were danced at a whirlwind tempo.

Her approach to life was giving, interactive, and involved. Luke meanwhile, had to practically be dragged out of bed in the mornings just to attend school, which he spent with his head on the desk, the picture of disinterest and apathy. His social circle was small, and he'd had friends, but they discussed the latest speeder models, hunted womp rats, and had little sense of the future except where it concerned themselves. He hadn't been interested in the history of the Clone Wars, was barely passing his second year of Coruscanti language, and paid little attention to the Galactic Civil War covered by the evening news on the holovision.

"How was your day?" she asked, concern in her eyes. Luke checked behind him to make sure Maranya was still following them. "It was hard," he admitted. "Hers was abandoned, and mine was just as I last saw it. Except," and this had not occurred to him before," except someone took care of my aunt and uncle. I bet it was the Darklighters." He felt badly now, that he hadn't stopped to say hello, to say thank you. They had a loss too, their son Biggs over Yavin. Moisture farming was a hard, humble life, and the owners made no competition out of the struggle to hydrate the planet. They were there for each other; to lend equipment, labor, share in the good yields and pull together during the poor ones.

"Are you glad you went, though?" Leia asked. She would give anything to be able to view her planet again, even if to just lay flowers in remembrance.

"Yeah." Luke suddenly realized why his homestead was just as he last saw it: it was waiting for him. It, and the community of moisture farmers. Waiting to tell him, we know what happened here. We want you to know how sorry we are. Waiting for him to decide, are you with us, or not? If not, then we'll say farewell and good luck; if you are, then we'll welcome you back. You let us know, and we'll take care of you no matter the answer. He hadn't been able to cry earlier; now he felt tears moisten his eyes. This had been his home. He had decided not to stay, and now Tatooine was letting him go. He had told Ben upon the deaths of his aunt and uncle _there's nothing for me here anymore_. But he'd been wrong. His aunt and uncle were gone, but Tatooine would always be there for him. He thought of all the yellows, and how he'd like to continue visiting.

Leia thought the tears in his eyes were for him, and at first they were, but they shifted as he regarded her. Leia had no place to go. Ever. She was more than an orphan. Tatooine was his home, and he had left and never told it if he'd be back. Alderaan was her home, and she had told it, I'll be back in a day, and then it was gone. He stopped outside Han's door and embraced her. "I'm sorry," he whispered in her hair. "I'm sorry for Alderaan. I never could understand it until now. I'm so sorry."

She pulled away quickly, unaccustomed to his show of emotion, and uncomfortable with the ones he was bringing out in her now, in the middle of a medcenter with patients, droids, medics and relatives milling about.

She attempted to pull herself together by straightening her hairstyle, aware of Maranya's eyes on her. "Not now, Luke," she said. _Damn it, I wanted to be happy._ She took a deep breath, not looking at Luke, and thought of the man waiting behind the door for them. She took his Force sense, impatient, edgy, uncertain.

"I'm sorry," Luke said. "It just hit me."

"It's fine." She gave a slight shake of her head, a suffering smile.

He tried to lighten the mood. "I'm a little slow."

This time her smile was affectionate. "I don't think so, Jedi Skywalker." She opened the door and they stepped in.

Han could hear them outside his door if he shut his eyes. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but he recognized their voices. He sat on the medical bed, wearing the sleep pants Chewie had brought him a day ago but not the shirt. A medical droid was performing the last physical before discharge, and he was trying to be patient. His foot danced with nervous energy as his eyes stared into what everyone called a droid's head, wondering why it had blue photo receptors.

"Hey, Han," Luke breezed in, followed by Leia and Maranya. "Hope we didn't keep you waiting long."

"It's fine," he lied, gesturing at the droid. "Still got some red tape here." He _had_ been waiting, going crazy with idleness and lack of contact. The first part of his stay was a blur, but his memory always included someone; someone nearby, someone watching over him. Chewie's rumbling comfort, Leia's hand in his. As he recovered there were more hours where he was awake and alert, but alone. If someone did visit they kept conversation light. They didn't want to talk openly in the medcenter, but each reassured Han they would fill him in on everything once he was discharged. To Han, everyone seemed like they'd undergone a transformation. Chewie was back and forth at the palace, no longer called Jabba's; Leia was in meetings and Luke was continuing his training with Master Yoda. They all seemed fulfilled, as if they'd found an answer, a purpose; and he was stuck in a bed with a hole in his chest. It made him irritable.

He was in no mood to talk. He just wanted to leave.

Sensing his mood, everyone was silent as they waited for the droid to finish. Then Han took the parcel Leia had set on the bed and went in the 'fresher to dress.

"If we are entrusting his release to you," the droid told Luke and Leia, "will you please see that he follows the medic's prescribed advice? He is not what we term a cooperative patient."

"Don't worry," Luke said, signing the release for Han. "We'll make sure he takes it easy."

Han emerged from the 'fresher, holding his arms wide as if presenting himself. Leia thought he looked good. Pale and thin, but rest and time would take care of that. She walked into his arms and gave him a hug. "Come on, Captain," she told him. "Ready to go home?"

 _Home_ , Han heard. _She said home_. "Yes," he told her. "I want to go home."

They bustled out the door, Maranya bringing up the rear and Luke telling Han about Chewie's plans to celebrate.


	27. Chapter 27

Luke's newly cut hair was still long enough to blow back off his face in the stiff wind he created by driving the speeder at break neck speed through the canyons. A straight pass was coming up, no obstacles, and Luke risked a peek at Han for the few seconds he didn't have to steer. Han rested his head against the seat back, eyes closed, looking like he enjoyed the speed too.

"I've missed flying," Han had to yell, to make himself heard, but there was a wistfulness in his tone. "I can't wait to take the _Falcon_ up."

"Where would you go?" Luke yelled back.

"Anywhere I need to be," Han said cryptically.

Luke was happy to be out with Han, to be able to celebrate a life instead of watching one fade away. Han had submitted himself to Jabba's version of Tatooine, and now that he was free, Luke wanted to show him the desert as he knew it. There were a few things he needed to clear up with Han, and getting him away from familiar surroundings and preconceived notions was the best way to approach it. Besides, if there was one thing he knew about Han, it was that he enjoyed speed as much as Luke did. The speeder would be returned to the rental agency in the morning, and Luke thought he might as well make the most of it. It was a lot more fun to drive than the cumbersome skiff.

"If we had goggles," Luke shouted over the noise of the wind,"I could go even faster. But that would make my eyes water."

Han held his hand over the armrest, enjoying the resistance of the wind. "This is great," he shouted in answer. "I wouldn't want to do that zigzag any faster than we are."

Luke grinned. wolfishly. "Don't tell me you're slowing down, Han Solo," he goaded. "Speed is just what the doctor ordered."

"Oh yeah?" Han said with a smile. "Missed that part on my release flimsi."

Luke hadn't had to talk him into a speeder ride after he was released from the medcenter. Han felt stiff and sore and moved slower than he thought he should, and he'd only agreed to Leia's strongly worded suggestion, almost an order, they they stop in the tonsorial for haircuts so he could sit down for a bit. The speeder ride seemed like a good idea. He needed something to help him feel like the person he used to be.

"You didn't even read it," Luke accused.

"Neither did you," Han retorted. The way Han held his face to the sun reminded Luke of Maranya's obvious enjoyment of the fresh air, and he was glad to give Han a chance to shake off the confines of his cell. Luke, too, felt a tremendous release, as if the speed was shaking off his tension, bad memories, and worries, and disintegrating them into pellets of sand that vaporized behind them. He drove the speeder towards what looked to Han like a wall of rock, and Han couldn't help gripping his hand tightly on the armrest until he realized a large opening was hidden in shadow.

Luke hopped out. "Ready to do some exploring?" he asked. He had thought to walk into the cavern a bit but upon seeing Han's careful exit and slightly hunched shoulders thought better of it. He pulled out a couple of bottles from the speeder's hatch. "Just water," he explained. "On Tatooine, you don't mix desert with alcohol."

Han took a bottle. "Water's good," he said. The two touched their flasks together and Luke sat cross-legged on the sand just inside the cavern, where it was cool and shaded.

"I know these canyons pretty well," Luke told Han. "Any free chance I had, I'd come in here and just race through 'em."

Han nodded in complete understanding. "That's what I'd be doing, too." He took in the darkness, peering around him. "Something live in these caves?" Han walked over to the cavern wall, feeling it with his fingers.

Luke closed his eyes and followed Han's movements through the Force. He could feel Han clearly; not his emotions or thoughts, but his senses; how he used smell, hearing and touch to learn where he was. Luke made a mental note to himself. It would be a good first lesson, if he had a Force-sensitive pupil. "Do you want some light?" He turned on his lightsaber and filled the cave with blue light.

Han squinted at him. "Turn that off," he directed.

Luke put the cave back in darkness. "I wasn't going to kill anyone with it, Han," he said petulantly. "Thought some light would help."

"I know that," Han answered. "We just don't need it."

Luke let the Force trail deeper into the cave. "This one's occupied," he told Han. "A raebbaer, I think."

"They dangerous?" Han asked.

"Not to humans. They're nocturnal," Luke explained.

"They like the cold," Han commented. "Hmm," Luke answered. "It gets very cold at night."

Han snorted. "Tell me about it." Luke regarded him in the darkness. He didn't know what Han had endured at Jabba's, and given his friend's laconic nature he might never know. But he could tell it hadn't been easy. "Humans here hunker down during the night. Honestly, until the night Leia and I left the _Falcon_ from the canyon on our way to get you was the first time I was out at night. And the other night, when I stayed out with Vader."

"You stayed out with him?" This was news to Han. "After Leia did… whatever she did? Defeated him?" Wasn't that what Luke had told Han his first wakeful moments in the medcenter?

"Yeah," Luke was now speaking slowly, carefully. "She didn't kill him outright, but he was dying, so I stayed."

"Why?" Han asked bluntly. "Was there a chance he'd recover and get away?"

Luke shook his head. "No. But." Luke was aware of feeling defensive, an emotion Han usually riled easily in him, but he couldn't fall into that familiar pattern of behavior right now. "Someone should stay. I didn't want him to die alone."

"Why?" Han said again. "He was Darth Fucking Vader. Didn't bother him none, the people he killed."

"I know." Luke paused. It was several moments before he spoke again. He began to narrate the history, his voice falling into a soft lull that pulled Han in. "Darth Vader was the name he took when he accepted the Dark Side of the Force. A Sith title."

Han made no reply. Luke was not exactly telling him a story, but Han understood that Luke was handing him something, piece by piece, and he was letting Han put the pieces away until he was ready to accept the next one.

"His real name was Anakin Skywalker," Luke continued.

"Skywalker," Han repeated, signaling to Luke he got it. His mouth opened to jump ahead, seeing where this was going, but he thought better of it and let Luke take the lead.

"Yes. And he was a Jedi Knight. He was Ben's student."

"Huh," Han said. "The old man?" Han clearly remembered Vader and Ben on the Death Star, engaged in a lightsaber duel. Ben had let it end as soon as he saw that Luke and the others could get to Han's ship. He took a sip of water and waited for Luke, who seemed stalled. "That's a lot of history," Han prompted him.

Luke sighed. He was at a precipice, about to jump off. Han was his friend, and he knew it was safer if he let Han draw his own conclusions but he wasn't sure Han would catch him at the bottom of the cliff.

"So, Anakin was," Han ticked off possibilities with his fingers against his thumb, "your uncle, cousin…," he wanted to say it but saved it for Luke, "…. some relative?"

"Father." Luke smiled a little at Han's reluctance to come to the obvious conclusion.

"Father,"Han confirmed.

"His wife was pregnant, and he had visions she would die in childbirth, and Palpatine convinced him that turning to the Dark Side would save her."

"Palpatine? The Emperor? He's Sith too?"

"Yeah. We'll be bringing him down."

"So…,"Han considered all Luke told him. "He became evil because he loved you?" Luke smiled, his teeth flashing in the cavern's dark light. "You have this great way of summing things up," he told Han.

Han blinked and widened his eyes a little. "I didn't even know he was human," he muttered. Luke waved his hand. "That all happened after his turn. He fought Ben and had to wear a life support suit. But he encouraged rumors that he was some mysterious humanoid alien."

"Glad the old man scored a few points." Han stood up, brushing sand off his pants. "Come on, let's go back."

Han had an inkling this was going to be more than just a fast ride in the desert. He'd been apprehensive about learning the answers to all the questions he had. He didn't know most of the story, but he had the most important part. He didn't know where they'd picked up Yoda, how they knew to come to Tatooine, why Luke's eyes glowed with maturity or why Leia greeted him with open affection. All he knew was that they had come for him because they wanted to, not because they had to, even Chewie. It was the first time in his whole life that he felt validated and appreciated. Not for something he had or had not done. Simply because he was; he was part of someone's life and they wanted him. He didn't care who Luke's father was. It didn't make a difference in how he felt about the person sitting before him on the sand.

Luke didn't get up right away. He leaned back from his place on the floor, trying to find Han's face. "Wait." He had not imagined the precipice would not be as high as he feared. Han had let him jump off himself and merely waited at the bottom. "Don't you – don't you have -"

"What, is there more?" He could see Han's lean form now, silhouetted against the desert sky from the cavern's mouth. His hand was on his hip, an image of impatience.

"Yes, there's more." Luke took a deep breath and jumped again. "Leia's my sister."

Han froze mid-step. He raised his arm slowly towards Luke, and said with a point of his finger before letting his arm fall, "Okay, that surprised me."

Luke waited, almost flinching. Waited for scorn, disgust, horror, isolation.

Han took a few steps back into the cavern and held his hand out to Luke. "Come on, I'm driving this time," he told Luke. Luke grabbed his hand and was pulled to a standing position. "That's one crazy story," Han continued. "What are the odds of something like that?" He kept chatting to allow Luke a chance to regain his composure. "You can tell me on the way back. How you wound up a moisture farmer and she a princess on another world."

He had been honest with Luke, and he often wasn't, but that news had been very unexpected. Still, as he mulled over the news, he still found he didn't care. Luke was Luke, the same kid he met three years ago: idealistic, eager. And Leia was Leia, the same Princess he met three years ago: idealistic, spirited. And now all that was different was Luke had a sister and Leia had a brother. It didn't change what he knew of them in the slightest.

"That's how Leia defeated him," Luke told Han's back. "He knew about me, but not her. She told him, and ….it finished him. All those things he did, and it was to his daughter."

Han's thoughts trailed after Leia, so scarred by Vader. Would she feel the horror of her imprisonment even more knowing her father was behind it, or would she be liberated, strong in her self-empowerment?

Han was drawn back into the story. "Didn't he intend to do awful things to you? Wasn't that why he was after you?"

"Well, the Emperor sent him after me. Palpatine wanted me to have dark powers, or kill me if I wouldn't turn. But Vader just wanted me, for me. Because I was his son."

Han passed a hand over his chest, rubbing the wound. Leia. He shook his head in amazement. "You told me she defeated him by being herself. Isn't that what you said?"

Luke nodded with a shrug. "Something like that."

"She's…" Han was awed by her. "I remember just before he went down, I was scared for her," Han told Luke quietly. "I thought he was going to kill her. And then all of a sudden he was on the ground in front of me. And that's all she did? Say 'I'm your daughter'?"

"She called him father."

"She's incredible. She's so," Han fought for a word. Everything she did, she gave it her all. "Pure," Han decided.

"Her belief is that everyone should be made up of good and bad. That our experiences and emotions are intertwined, and that is the basis of human nature. That's why we wore your clothes," Luke told him. "The black and white. It was her idea to show him he was part of us, that even though we were on the 'good' side we still knew what bad was, and that was why he would never get us to turn."

They had reached the speeder. Luke returned the bottles to the hatch and let Han have the driver's side.

"Does Palpatine have the black and white?" Han asked as he started the speeder up.

"No, I think he's just pure evil," Luke quipped with a smile.

"Maybe she can call him father."

"I don't think that will work this time," Luke said, still smiling. Han opened the throttle and the speeder took off. Luke's hair blew back and he tightened his grip on the arm rest. "Not so fast," he had to shout over the noise of the wind. "You're still on pain meds, aren't you?"

"Enjoy the ride, Junior."

"I am, I am, just – not so fast!"

Han whooped and Luke looked behind him at the dusty trail of sand. _Those are my worries, my fears, anything I was afraid of. Flying off me and away._ Just one thing to be afraid of, and that was Han crashing the speeder into a canyon wall. "Not so fast!" Luke hollered.


	28. Chapter 28

Han stood in one of the storage bays of his beloved ship. He surveyed the mess he had made, frowning. Crate lids were propped against the walls, and contents of the crates were scattered in fairly organized piles around the bay. There were bottles of expensive liqueurs, boxes of ration bars, wires bundled up in tidy circles, numerous comm units, chronometers and macrobinoculars in various states of disrepair, cold weather gear. He rubbed the back of his neck, made itchy since his haircut and turned in a slow circle, his eyes taking another inventory. He hadn't found what he was looking for, and now he was faced with the prospect of stowing everything away before checking the next bay. The thought made him tired. He considered asking C-3PO to clean up the mess. Han brightened. He would, in fact. It was entertaining to assign the droid a task that didn't resemble protocol. C-3PO would complain to his master Luke, who would in turn check with Han to see if his droid were truly being abused, and to which Han would readily admit, and then Luke would get miffed. Han did it at least once during long flights if all the players were on board. Droids were so predictable. And he knew Luke so well, too. It was easy to play them.

Han heard a noise behind him and turned. Chewie's large form was filling the doorway.

"What are you doing?" Chewie asked, stepping in and seeing the disarray.

"Looking for something," Han answered.

"Find it?"

"No," Han sighed. "I'll check the other bays. I thought we were more organized. How'd parts get mixed in with food?"

Chewie grunted. Sometimes there were other pressing matters that required their immediate attention when bringing cargo aboard, like a malfunction, a potential boarding party, or a shoot-out. Then Chewie remembered. "Ah! I emptied Bay 1 and put it in here."

"I found fur in Bay 1," Han told him. "Just tufts of fur. Gray – not yours."

Chewie nodded. "I cleaned carcasses in Bay 1."

"What?" Han exclaimed. He had not taken the time to think of explanations for why a bay would be empty except for fur. It was a good explanation. Creepy, and odd; but it fit.

"We ran out of food while on Dagobah. I provided by hunting fish and game."

"Oh."Han had often wondered what Chewie, Luke and Leia had been up to while he was gone. He heard them talk about Dagobah, and knew that was where Yoda was from, but how they got there, he had no idea. He still hadn't heard the whole story.

He shook himself from thinking about the time when they were separated from each other. It bothered him. It wasn't just because he was languishing in a cell. It was that he felt like he didn't know them then. He changed the subject. "Where've you been? Wait - what are you wearing?" He took a step closer to Chewie. "Is it from Jabba's?" He lifted the piece of cloth that Chewie wore fashioned around his neck with a leather strap.

Han knew from his visits to Kashyyk that Wookiee warriors often wore something around their necks, something they had taken from an enemy. Chewie used to wear a piece of storm trooper armor he had managed to snag the day Han rescued him from slavery, but it had been long lost, and since then Chewie's neck was bare.

The cloth had been hastily cut from something, Han noticed. The edges were frayed and curled back so it was hard to see what it was. Han spread it apart with his fingers, anchoring the fabric, and recognized the Rebel Alliance emblem.

"This from an enemy?" Han frowned. He couldn't quite make up a fitting explanation for this, either.

"No, it belongs to the Princess," Chewie explained. "I told her I would return to the palace to plunder, and she appointed me Acting General of Hutt territories."

"Acting General," Han echoed.

"Yes. I have been going each day while you were in the medcenter. I've managed to recollect the money you had intended for Jabba, as well as other credits and gems. And I've been meeting with Rogue Squadron and General Rieekan. We've run off the pirates, broken the slave rings. And seized the drugs and contraband."

"You've been busy," Han said mildly, but he stared at the token around Chewie's neck. "General, huh?"

"Just temporary. It was because I could be first on the scene to begin to organize things. I'll resign it tomorrow."

Han was puzzled. "Why tomorrow?"

"Because you are out of the medcenter. I told them when you were fit that I would be attaching myself to you again."

"Attaching," Han said, not liking the term at all.

"Let us not go over the Life Debt again, Han," Chewie warned.

"I'm not," Han said resignedly. "It's just, I know you want this. You held a rank in the Clone Wars. I know this war is important to you."

"And the honor of serving the Life Debit is more important." Chewie insisted stubbornly.

Han stooped carefully and began to refill the crate with wound wire lengths. "Maybe you could do both," he said so quietly that Chewie barely heard him.

"What's that?" Chewie asked. "What did you say?"

"I said, you could do both." Han turned, setting his rear on the edge of a crate, his hands braced behind him, and for the first time looking Chewie in the eye. "You could still be a general. I was thinking, now that Jabba's dead, I don't have anything holding me back. I could..." Han swallowed. "Enlist." He swallowed again, shrugging to seem outwardly cool but aware of his heart beating loudly and wondering why saying it out loud made him so nervous.

"You mean commit? To the Rebellion? Something the Princess has been dogging you about for three years?" Chewie's happiness grew with each question. He could see his partner was embarrassed. Han had always avoided taking a stand, unless it availed him somehow. He was like a leaf on a breezy day, being blown this way and that, unpredictably moving around. Now he would be more like a sapling, taking roots, one which grew steady and strong. He bounded over to Han and lifted him in an emotional embrace.

"Mmphh," he heard Han grunt. Quickly, Chewie released him, his large hands still on Han's shoulders, steadying him.

"Sorry," Chewie said. "I didn't mean to hurt you." He rubbed Han's chest gently, where the blaster wound was steal healing. "But friend, partner – understand you are so much more than my Life's Work." Chewie beamed down at a sheepish Han. "I feel my tree has reached the sky."

"Congratulations," Han said wryly.

Chewie moved to the crate containing various bottles of exotic liqueur and removed a fine Corellian brandy. "You promised us this, remember?"

"I did?"

"Yes, after that successful mission and before you left us."

"Oh, yeah, I did. I was just talking. So you wouldn't think I was up to something."

"Talking makes for hunger. Doing sates the soul,"Chewie said. "We will open it tonight, and we shall celebrate. Would you like help putting all this away?"

"Nah," Han waved a hand. "I'll have Goldenrod do it."

"You will not play with the mechanical," Chewie said sternly. "He complains, and it hurts my ears. His voicebox is set at a bad frequency for Wookiee ears."

"I'd rather hear him complain than you," Han grumbled, rolling his eyes. But he returned to the wires and neatly placed them in the crate.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Han Solo could not deny it: he was tired. They finally had gotten around to that celebration. Chewie and Yoda had outdone themselves in the galley. They had gone to market in one of the skiffs, and brought back an assortment of meats, vegetables, breads and sweets. Luke had requested blue milk, and it was in the cooler while Chewie and Yoda prepared the feast. Yoda wouldn't let anyone else in the galley, going so far as to have Chewie put up a sign that read "Tree Spirits Permitted Entry Only."

"Tree Spirits?" Luke had remarked, standing on tiptoe, trying to peer over the sign. "You should be questioning the grammar," Han said from his seat at the gaming table. "Let 'em have their fun," he advised. "Keeps you from doing any work."

"True," Luke replied thoughtfully. "How about a game of holochess?"

"You're on, kid." Now Han sat with his elbow on the table, blinking slowly, his fist resting in his cheek. He was on the end of the circular bench, Leia next to him and then Chewie. Luke stood at the counter while Yoda, PM 7 and Maranya had makeshift seats on crates Chewie provided. It had been a long day, his first one back from the medcenter, and all the activity combined with the one glass of brandy and his medication was making him feel a little out of it. There was a lot of chatter, and it sounded happy and loud to his ears. They had to have C-3PO nearby because Maranya and PM 7 didn't understand Wookiee and Han found his attention often wavered and he hadn't listened to a thing Chewie said.

Yoda had demanded that everyone eat the vegetable matter he prepared. He poked Luke forcefully in the shoulder when Luke tried to decline, saying it helped young beings grow. Chewie had spat food out of his mouth, saying it was too late for Luke and even Yoda had laughed. The only ones who didn't eat much were Han, PM 7 and Maranya, their stomachs still not used to rich food. Yoda hadn't pushed them, looking thoughtfully at each.

Han scanned all the food spread out over the counter and tables of the lounge, at the beings gathered around, and remembered the feasts at Jabba's. There was always a lot of food, but no one here tonight would be pelted with it. No one here would be subject to having someone else relieve their bladder on them. No one was in fear of making a wrong move, saying the wrong thing, and being sent down to the rancor.

He regarded the other two survivors of the palace at the table, wondering if they had similar thoughts. Maranya sat quietly. She did not contribute, and it seemed like many of the jokes went over her head, but she sat erect and looked from being to being with interest.

PM 7 seemed to be enjoying himself. His initial period of detox was finished, and Leia had managed to obtain a prescription for the manufactured spice for him. His eyes were bright and it was apparent he was intelligent and knowledgeable. Han toasted him silently. _Clean slate, man_ , he thought to himself. _Don't waste it_.

"What's your name?" Han asked the medic abruptly, interrupting Luke's story of the nesting grizdik mother that chased him around the desert when he was a teen.

Everyone fell silent and PM 7 looked uncomfortable. "You know my name, don't you, Solo? Are you feeling alright? Perhaps you had a small stroke from oxygen deprivation and -"

"No, I'm fine," Han said. "What's your name?" he repeated.

"Well, as you know, at the palace, everyone referred to me -"

The man was beginning to remind Han of C-3PO. "Don't tell me your parents named you PM 7 because they knew you'd grow up to one day be the 7th medic that served Jabba," he said sarcastically. "I asked what your _name_ is," he repeated clearly.

PM 7 looked at Han with a hurt in his eyes. He hadn't thought of his given name in a long time. It made him feel like a failure. It made him want some spice.

"Bracklin Meldevi," he answered quietly. "I am forty-three years old. I am a native of Chandrila and received my medical training at the University of Coruscant.

"There," Han sat back triumphantly. Leia squeezed his thigh. "Now you got something back Jabba took from you. What shall we call you? Doc Brack?"

Meldevi accepted Han's gift. He looked down at his lap but smiled faintly. "That would be fine." There was a lapse in the conversation. Then Doc Brack cleared his throat. "I should like for you all to know, how much I appreciate all you have done. For including us in your rescue, for providing and caring for us, caring about our futures." He cleared his throat again, emotional. "It means … so much. Thank you."

Yoda raised his glass. "Abreachttha," he said solemnly.

"Did he sneeze?" Han whispered to Leia.

"Abreachttha is a celebratory toast offered by the -" C-3PO began to inform the group pompously when he was rudely cut off by Chewie.

"Cheers," Luke provided, and everyone raised their glass.

"Master Luke, if you will permit me, I should like to continue my explanation. It really is a fascinating -"

"Maybe later, 3PO," Luke told him gently.

"When I can't sleep," Han put in.

The medic's comment about futures made Luke look around at all gathered in the lounge. What did the future hold in store for all of them he wondered? Yoda was good at seeing moments in the future when he mediated. That was his strength.

"Master Yoda, can you go home?" Luke suddenly asked. "Does your exile include that?"

Yoda shook his head. "With you, I stay, Skywalker. Finish what we have started, I will."

"And Chewie can't go home. Well, he can't stay," Luke mused. "Leia can't." He squeezed her hand sorrowfully. "I'm leaving mine. What about you, Han? Do you have a home?" He'd known Han for three years, and all he knew about him was that Han had successfully thwarted attempts at uncovering his past. Luke had learned to stop asking.

Han shook his head. "No place I want to return to," he said. Leia squeezed his thigh again. She knew Han was from Corellia, and while he was certainly different from Alderaani males because he was from Corellia, she got the feeling it had not been a homey place for him to grow up. "Made this my home," he told Luke.

"None of us really has a place to call home," Luke concluded.

Han swept his arm out in a gesture of hospitality. "Well, then," he drawled slowly, "I welcome you to my home."

Luke smiled. "Thanks."

"Abreachttha," Yoda said again.

They all drank, smiling at each other. C-3PO considered the words of Captain Solo as Chewie rumbled something and Princess Leia answered softly. A home, the language data bank reinforced what he already knew, was a residence. A physical place where beings found security and shelter from the elements. This, the _Falcon_ , that Captain Solo referred to, was a space ship. It fell under the category of transportation. Entirely different than a home. He had a mind to point out the Captain's mistake, but as the three humans laughed loudly at something the Wookiee said, decided it could wait.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Leia placed her hand on Han's forearm, recalling how often she did it in her dreams. "Want to go out the hatch and watch the meteoroid showers?" she whispered to him.

He looked at her full on, his face reading pleasantly surprised. She blushed, but he said, "Yes" with such surety it made her laugh. They slid out of the booth, him leading her by the hand. Luke raised his brows at Leia as they passed and she blushed again. Han dropped her hand in the corridor.

"Let me get something," he said to her, and emerged in a moment from his cabin holding two thick white blankets and a pillow. "It's cold outside," he explained.

They rode the lift to the upper hatch and emerged onto a clear, star-lit night. Leia shivered. It was, indeed, cold. Han spread one blanket on the hull and placed the pillow on it. Then he wrapped the second blanket around himself and opened his arm wide, signaling her to let him enfold her. They lay down, and Leia placed her head in the crook of his shoulder, smiling to the night.

"I've been waiting for this," she sighed happily.

"You have?" Han said, feeling surprised again. Leia was definitely more forward than she had been before he left. He asked himself how his leaving would make that possible and wondered again what had happened during their separation.

"There goes one," Leia gestured breathlessly as a silver streak flared from the sky. Her eyes followed it until it disappeared. "Luke doesn't remember meteoroid showers when he was a boy," she murmured into Han's shoulder. "But according to the holonews, it's a season now. It's been going on for the last few years."

"It's debris," Han told her. "Tatooine is passing through a debris field. Might be from a moon, or big meteor, something that got destroyed and fell out of orbit. It's possible it happened just recently."

"Could it be Alderaan?" she asked him.

"Hmm." Han gave it some thought. "I don't think so. Alderaan is pretty far from here."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. My ship was captured over Tatooine, you know."

Han nodded, his jaw bumping her head. "Luke told me the droids took an escape pod and it landed them here. You'd have had to be close."

Leia felt very comfortable. The big meal and brandy sat in her stomach, warming her, while the closeness of Han heated her in an entirely different way. She felt his chest rise; even, deep, alive.

"The last time I saw you lying on your back you died," she said quietly.

He humphed a little. "I didn't die."

"Yes, you did," she said. "You stopped breathing."

"But I didn't die, Leia," he told her, turning his head to place his lips on her temple. "You stopped calling me 'Your Worship?" she smiled.

He was feeling sleepy. "You're a lot more than a princess," he murmured. Even the flaming meteors, streaking to oblivion, were like a lullaby. Soothing.

"Luke told you everything?" she asked.

"Well, the main parts. Not everything."

"So you know …

"You're brother and sister."

"And…." Han could tell she was worried. He nudged her playfully with his hip. "And you have that guy's genes."

She smiled gratefully. "Vader. Anakin Skywalker. I hate Vader. I don't really hate Anakin, though. Does that make sense? When I think of him I feel pity. And if I _really_ think of him, I think what an idiot he was."

Han laughed. "We're not lucky enough to choose our families," he said.

Leia wondered if he was thinking of his own family.

"What did your father call you?" Han asked.

"Which one?" Leia said wryly. She could tell Han was close to sleep, his voice drawling in a deep mumble.

"Your _real_ one," Han said. "The one lucky enough to choose his family."

She tightened her hold on him and nuzzled under his arm thinking, _I love this man."_ He called me Leilei."

"That's cute," Han sighed.

"What did yours call you?" Leia risked asking.

"He didn't for long," Han said after a moment.

"Are you ever going to tell me?" she nudged him to wakefulness.

"Prob'ly," he mumbled.

She lifted her chin to look at him better. She'd only known him three years, and he always seemed so strong, so confident. There were signs, though; aspects of his personality that hinted at a darker side. He angered easily, he could be bitter. She knew the greed was just a ruse, and the arrogance went both ways. Sometimes it was real and sometimes he was just talking. That was part of what made him so aggravating. But even when they fought, there were things she admired about him. His sense of humor, his loyalty. She never could stay angry with him for long. She wondered what he was like as a child, with his charm, out-of-control hair, athleticism, quick wit. It was an endearing image. How could someone be cruel to someone like that?

Her mind started to drift, sleepy like Han. Jabba had been cruel. She wasn't thinking of Han right now, but of those they had freed. Jabba had never gotten to know any of them, just forced them into gods- knew-what. She shook her head slightly. Some were so damaged, emotionally as well as physically. Maranya. Would she ever be able to live her own life? Leia counted herself lucky that she had emerged from her own ordeal with her sanity intact.

"Han?" she asked.

"Mm?"

"When you were a boy, what did you worry about most? What did you want the most?" Leia guessed he would say a family, or home, or just compassion.

"Shoes," came his prompt reply. "Shoes?" she repeated, making sure she heard right.

"Yeah. I didn't have any after a while. Sometimes it was so cold I couldn't feel my feet when I walked. I fell down a lot."

Leia swallowed, her heart breaking.

"It got cold," he repeated dreamily. "I hate Hoth," he told her.

She smiled. "I know. You told us a billion times." "Good. Thought it was closer to a million." "We're not at Hoth anymore," she reminded him. "The base is at Sullust now." It occurred to her now he always wore his boots. She shook him a little bit. "Should we go in?"

"But I love _you_ ," he told her drowsily, thinking of how Hoth made him so miserable but she made him feel so good.

She smiled to the night once more. How special, she mused, to have someone feel that way about you. It seemed all she did this night was smile. She felt so happy. She shook him again and interrupted a snore."Or do you want to stay out and camp under the stars?"

He didn't answer her, sound asleep, and she was too comfortable to rouse him. She didn't think there would be any danger to staying out, on top of the freighter.

Later Chewie popped his head through the hatch. He froze, listening. He didn't want to disturb Han and Leia if they were expressing themselves physically. But all he heard was even breathing, so he stalked them along the hull, coming upon the blanket. They were barely visible, just the dark of their hair against the silver and black of the sky, the gray of the hull, the white of the blanket.


	29. Chapter 29

Luke, wearing Storm Trooper armor, burst in his cell door. "I'm Luke Skywalker," he said, all excitement and urgency. "I'm here to rescue you."

"Great," Han answered. He stood up eagerly. "Can you take these off?" Han indicated the shackles attached at his wrists and ankles.

"That's all right, just pick them up," Luke said and turned to leave.

Han stared after Luke's back, disappointed he was going to have to do this all himself. He started to gather up the chains. They were ridiculously long, and just as he had most of one gathered and stooped to gather the ends of the next, the first one would spill out and he would have to start all over again. The links were large and heavy, and the whole thing was extremely bulky in his arms. It was a good thing there were no guards about, or he'd never be able to leave the cell.

He followed Luke, gathering chains, spilling them, stopping to gather them, dragging the others in the sand, losing sight of Luke. Han was stooped over, exasperated, and when they finally entered the throne room it seemed like days and days had passed. Chewie was sitting on Jabba's throne.

"I'm General Chewbacca," he informed Han in perfect Basic. "I understand you wish to sign up."

"Uh, yeah," said Han, and his shackles spilled out of his arms again. He tried to answer in Shyriiwook but couldn't get his throat to make the sounds.

"Just sign here," General Chewbacca told him.

"OK, just a sec," Han said, struggling with his chains. "Hey, Luke, can you help me?" Han turned, but Luke was over at a feast table with Rogue Squadron. There were table decorations placed at regular intervals, little spires with the rebel insignia attached at the points.

Han was so busy managing the shackles that his attention wasn't completely on what General Chewbacca was saying. He looked in dismay at the chains at his feet. They extended all they way back through the corridor he had come out of. He would have to go all the way back. His eyes traced the endless coils of chains, link after link, until they disappeared in the darkness.

Han started walking back to the corridor, trying to rein in the chains without spilling the others. He bumped his elbow on the threshold and the shackles spilled out. "Damn," he swore angrily. "I'm never getting out of here."

"May I help you?" someone asked.

Han turned around. "Leia!" It was Leia, but it wasn't Leia. She didn't seem to know who he was. She was like a clerk in a fancy boutique; friendly, helpful, yet distant. Despite that, he felt a happiness and knew he was grinning. "Can you get these off?"

"I'll be glad to help you," she smiled. Leia unclasped a lightsaber at her belt and swiftly cut through the metal near his skin. For a split second he was fearful of the blade, but as soon as he was free he was amazed at her efficiency.

"Thanks," he said in relief.

"Customer Service is our priority," she told him. She stepped close to him, as tall as he, and caressed his face.

The dawn of the first sun was just breaking when Leia heard Han say something in his sleep. She burrowed out of the blanket and took in her surroundings. They had spent the whole night on top of the _Falcon_. The sky was a deep amber, the chill quickly giving away to heat. She remembered waking up just once, when something howled. It was a lonely sound. She reflected on what it could be, and why it sounded so sad, but Han had pulled her more tightly to him and she let the howling lull her back to sleep.

Now she looked at Han. She could tell he was dreaming. There was movement of his eyes under his lids and his hands twitched. His arms were folded protectively at his chest and he was curled in a ball. She thought he might be in pain and wondered if he had missed a dose of his medication last night. He didn't look to be having a good dream. She caressed his face.

Han's eyes snapped open and he looked at her wildly, as if he had no idea how she happened to be next to him. Then he blinked. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," she told him with a smile. "I think you were dreaming."

"Somethin' about..." Han scratched his neck and stretched his legs under the blanket, thinking of the exaggerated length of the shackles. "Oh. Yeah. I was having a dream."

"What about?" He just needed to shake off the dream. She of all people should understand that.

Han took a deep breath, feeling the images of the dream begin to slip from something concrete to feelings, leaving just a mood. "I was at Jabba's. Chewie was on his throne. And I -" he shook his head. "It was a weird dream. Must be the pain meds. I usually don't remember dreams."

Leia put a hand to his forehead. "Are you feeling alright?" There was no fever.

"Yeah, fine. What are you doing today?"

She sighed, rolling on to her back. "Oh, I have a meeting. The members of the Committee for the Displaced have all been appointed and this is our first time together. We're going to knock out mission statement and policies. I'll be at that conference center." She turned her head to look at Han. "You should rest, huh? Get your strength back."

Han shrugged. "We'll see. I might go with Chewie. A skiff ride isn't so demanding." He had a desire to see the palace. A part of him wanted to see if his dream was correct about some of the changes. He wouldn't be surprised to see Rebel table decorations, or Rogue Squadron sharing their inane conversations and playing games at a table, just like the last time he saw them, on Hoth. He wanted to take care of Chewie too, make sure he still had a chance to serve the Rebellion.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Han palmed open the next bay. Systematically, methodically, he would go through each bay, one by one. It was a way to reconnect with his ship, to take back what once was his. He didn't really mind how comfortable Luke and Leia were on his ship; in fact it was kind of nice; but every time he saw the extra toothbrushes, or the way Luke sat in his captain's chair, or how familiar Leia seemed to be in the galley, there was an uncomfortable squirming inside him. His ship had always been unequivocally his. Now it seemed she had opened her arms and heart to others. He knew it was irrational, but he felt spare, extra.

Han stepped into the bay and was surprised to see a mess. His pressed his lips together in irritation. Desert sand traced out the large print of a Wookiee foot on the flooring. Crate lids were haphazardly thrown to the side, shrink wrap and paper packaging littered the bay. It all looked carelessly and hurriedly done.

"Ready to go, Han?"

Han jumped. He'd been lost in thought and hadn't heard Luke approach.

Luke laughed at having startled Han, but he noticed Han had reacted as if to draw from his holster. "Good thing you aren't armed," he said mildly. "You might have shot me."

"I didn't hear you," Han said darkly. He stabbed a finger at the refrigeration unit. Somebody had scrawled, in tidy handwriting with a black marker 'plasma.' "Isn't this the stuff from our last supply run?" Han looked at the activation date for the thermostat. "What month is it?" he asked Luke. "Never mind – the unit's off."

"It's tenth month," Luke informed him.

Han glanced back down at the unit's date. It had been activated months ago. _Months_. He scowled at Luke. "It's ruined. What happened in here?"

"This," Luke gestured to the bay, "is a desperate attempt to keep you alive. That's what you're looking at."

Han, subdued, took another look around. In addition to plasma, numerous packages had been opened. He bent carefully, still sore, and picked up a case of antiseptic cleansing towels. The shrink wrap cover was discarded to the side, a streak of red on it. Several of the cleansers were crumpled and dried out, stained pink. Blood, he realized. Somebody was cleaning blood. His eyes, reflecting the slate blue of the bay, met Luke's.

Luke nodded, as if answering all of Han's questions. "It was intense, Han. It's not something we're going to forget soon." A chill went up him, remembering Leia fraught, himself so wretched. "Did you need something in here?" Luke asked, suddenly worried. "Are you having a setback?"

Han shook his head, irritated. "No. Will you stop treating me like I'm sick?"

"Sorry," Luke said insincerely. "But you were sick. Worse than sick."

"Well, I'm a lot better." Han changed the subject. "Is it just us going?"

"And Chewie. Yoda went with Leia. Doc Brack and Maranya will stay here with C-3PO."

"OK. Let's go then." Han palmed the bay door shut and hollered out to C-3PO. "Goldenrod! We're leaving!"

The droid appeared from the cockpit corridor. "Thank you for taking the time to inform me, Captain Solo," he said. "I shall maintain my post as lookout and be sure to -," C-3PO stopped, seeing he had no audience. From the top of the ramp he could see Captain Solo and Master Luke trail after Chewbacca in the sand. Master Luke was gesturing. "I shall close the hatch," the droid informed no one. The last thing he saw before the ramp shut him inside was Solo turning around at the noise of the closure, making sure his freighter was in good working order.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Han and Luke sat side by side on the skiff while Chewie set the autopilot. Han looked up, hearing an odd howling noise from the breeze. The shade awning was developing a hole. Bits of frayed fabric wiggled in the wind.

"Have you been with the General," Han gestured with his head at Chewie, "to the palace?"

"No, it's my first time," Luke told him.

"Chewie says Rogue Squadron has been docking there."

"I know. I can't wait to see them," Luke said. He felt happy saying it; it was the truth.

"Maybe Chewie found my blaster while he plundered," Han mentioned hopefully. "Jabba took it."

"He took a lot of things, didn't he?" Luke commented. Han regarded Luke a moment, and then his features twisted in a sneer. "You aren't going to talk like Yoda all the time, are you now?"

Luke was genuinely puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Han fluttered his wrist upwards. "These mysterious half-truths. Am I supposed to be impressed that he acts like he knows everything but says nothing?"

"You're cranky today," Luke said. But he took Han's words to heart. He remembered, faintly, like it was long ago, that he once had the same thoughts about Yoda. "I guess it's the Force." He could see it now, all the time, the tendrils and strands and threads, leading from one to another, out and out, ever expanding. "You see so much. It makes you talk in short cuts."

"Anyway, it's your fault," Han said grumpily.

Luke raised his brows. "What's my fault?"

"Why I'm cranky. I had a dream and you were no help in it."

"Oh," Luke laughed. "I know what you mean. My aunt called them Frustration Dreams. I used to have a recurring one where I had to sweep the house for my chores, and I could never leave one room because more sand would always appear."

Han was lost in thought. "Leia was the only one who was helpful."

"Did you guys have a nice night last night?" Luke asked playfully.

"None of your business," Han automatically retorted. Then he squinted at Luke thoughtfully. "Why is Leia so…" he searched for a delicate way to put it, "affectionate now?"

Luke pretended to be uncomfortable. "Do I want to know this?"

"I fell asleep," Han admitted. "But she… she's… well, she's just _affectionate_ ," he shrugged. "It's different. She hasn't yelled at me once."

Luke nodded soberly. "She loves you, Han."

"But," Han sputtered. "Where did that come from? Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, but….I guess I'm not used to it. She used to try and convince herself she hated me."

"Try," Luke said sagely. "That's the operative word. When she was fighting you, she was really fighting herself."

Han twisted his torso around to face Luke and winced. He shifted his hips. "What happened, though? What made it change? I'm around, she hates me; when I come back after I'm gone she loves me?"

"I thought you weren't complaining."

Han smiled. "I'm not. It just doesn't make sense. I don't want her to love some mistaken memory of who I am."

"She doesn't," Luke assured him. "Maybe it's that quality of the Force you find so irritating in Yoda. And now me. It...shows you things. Points out things you should be aware of. She was aware of missing you, and it grew from there," Luke finished with a shrug. He looked inward, finding the Force linking Han and Leia stronger than a tendril. It was several plied together, twisting around and around, infinite.

Han straightened himself on the bench again and both men lapsed into silence. The sand undulated around them and Luke studied Han's profile. There was a lot of history on his face, from the scar on his chin to the tiny laugh lines forming at the corners of his eyes. Luke smiled, remembering his first impression of Han. It had not been exactly favorable. He closed his eyes, searching the memory now in the Force, and there they were, the fragile wisps thinner than the smoke of a death stick, undeniably connecting Han to Luke as much as Luke to Ben.

Luke still had questions about the Force. He saw the tendrils, but had Ben put them there, in choosing to hire Han and Chewie? Had they beckoned Ben? Had they always been there, a mark of destiny?

Luke had been young but aged; Han old and young at the same time. From the outset Han had been simultaneously dismissive, respectful and generous towards Luke. But he had come to care, and quickly, too; the events in the garbage masher had shown that to Luke. It wasn't a quality most others attributed to Han. It wasn't a quality Han attributed to himself.

Luke chuckled inwardly. The Rebel leaders didn't assign Han tasks because he cared; it was because he was a good pilot, a good shot. But Leia and Luke always picked Han and their reason was always because he cared. _That's why he's always grumbling at us,_ Luke decided. _We're ruining his reputation._ He smiled again. It amused him.

Sitting side by side the Force was still a prominent presence between them. It occurred to Luke he didn't notice it when he was around Maranya, or Doc Brack. Something, some destiny, still linked Han with Luke. It wasn't just Han's connection to Leia. More was ahead for them. Luke was glad for it.

"You know," Han spoke, following his own thoughts, "I heard her before I saw her."

"Oh?" He didn't need to ask Han who he was talking about.

"Yeah, remember? When you went to get her out of the cell, Chewie and I got pushed back to you and I said we were cut off?"

Luke smiled. "Yeah." It was an adventure to think about it now, but at the time he had been fairly certain he was going to die. He was glad to see Han was able to shake off the bad mood that seemed to want to swallow him up earlier.

"And she said something bitchy about us not having a plan. My first impression was her voice, and what she was saying. For such a little person she has a really big voice. And she acted like she'd have done so much better if the shoe was on the other foot. In my head I had this image of a woman, super tall and strong. And when I went to look at her -"

"As I remember, you were yelling back at her."

Han dismissed Luke with a wave of his hand. "What can I say? I resented her. -when I went to look at her, she was short. And young. And pretty." Han thought back fondly to the detention cell corridor. Leia's voice….it was all personality, character, spirit. She was a powerhouse. "So I think I loved her the second I heard her."

 _Pretty_ ….Luke remembered commenting to C-3PO when R2D2 let the holomessage of Leia slip that she was beautiful. The most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. It showed how inexperienced he was. Leia was nineteen, the same age as he. He'd seen a lot of women since then; women on base and women in cantinas. Some attractive merely because they were women in a man's world, some so spectacular even seasoned Han took notice. Luke wanted to laugh. Leia was his sister and Han fell in love with a voice.

 


	30. chapter 30

Luke and Han passed X-wings docked on the sand. "What a beautiful sight," Luke exclaimed.

Han had to agree with him. Hangars, docking bays; anywhere ships docked in great numbers was a thrilling sight. It said something about the ingenuity of the beings who designed and flew space craft. A shipyard promised innovation, adventure, and exploration. Everything that made life fun.

Chewie had told them the Rebel presence on Tatooine was temporary, and that as soon as they had consolidated control of the crime syndicate, they would leave. Luke wasn't sure, not being as integrated in the politics as Leia was, but he thought it was the first time the Rebel Alliance had initiated such a policy. _We've really created a lot of change._ He didn't know what to call the military presence here; it wasn't really a base and it wasn't really a military installation.

But it was big enough. The entire squadron sprawled out over acres of desert. Techs were busy fueling, loading astromech droids, pilots bustled about.

"They're deploying," Han observed.

"I wonder what's going down," Luke replied.

They entered the skiff hangar, which had been taken over by General Chewbacca and the rest of the staff. Han recognized some of the feast tables had been moved out here. On them rested various types of radar, sonar, and communications sensory equipment.

Chewie led them to General Rieekan.

"Commander Skywalker, Captain Solo," Rieekan greeted them warmly. He shook their hands. "It's been a while." Princess Leia had been extremely evasive when she updated Command about the whereabouts of Solo, Skywalker and herself. In fact, now that he looked at the two men before him, she had left out most of the story, he realized. Skywalker was grim, older; Solo was pale and thin.

Rieekan led them to a table. "Let's have an informal debrief."

"Well, sir," Luke sat on the edge of his seat with his hands clasped between his legs. "We're not able to add to what Princess Leia informed you of."

"I see." Rieekan nodded thoughtfully. "Then let me brief you on what I know. The Princess," he began, "has told us you followed a lead to recover a Jedi Master named Yoda. She also told us," Rieekan sent his eyes to Solo, "that you, Solo, were here independently and assassinated Jabba the Hutt."

Rieekan watched Solo squirm, uncharacteristically humble. "I wouldn't call it that, General," he hedged. _Just exactly what had Leia told them?_ "I was just taking care of business."

"Well, no doubt the galaxy is a better place without him." He cleared his throat. "She also informed us of the death of Darth Vader. You can confirm?"

The two men nodded. "That was a jaw dropper," Rieekan admitted. "Didn't think I'd see that happen in my lifetime. Quite a stunning turn of events. The Princess has asked we keep it quiet at the moment. No one's sure if the Empire is aware Vader is dead. Apparently he was off on his own mission." Luke nodded, glad Leia had the foresight to keep the information under wraps.

Rieekan straightened in his seat. "Rogue Squadron is going to be excited when they see their Commander has returned," he mentioned to Luke.

"Where are they headed?" Han interrupted.

"Back to Sullust. Radar's picked up a sandstorm headed this way. Three hundred seventy five parts around." Luke whistled. "Damn right," Rieekan informed Luke. "It's a big one."

Luke turned to Han. "We shouldn't stay long, then. Can't risk getting caught in it."

Han nodded. "Then speak your piece."

Luke nodded back at Han, glad to have the abrupt change in tone. "General, the reason I came. I won't be returning to command Rogue Squadron. I'm resigning my commission."

"Oh?" Rieekan's brows rose and he noted even Solo was looking at Luke in surprise.

"Yes. With Vader gone, our path to the Emperor is clear."

"That's not a course of action Command is going to sanction, Skywalker," Rieekan told him abruptly.

"I know that, General," Luke said sadly. "That's why I need to resign. I intend to go after the Emperor. It's the next obvious course of action."

"That's not as obvious to me as it is to you," Rieekan said diplomatically. "He's well protected. And it's been the policy of the Rebel Alliance to fight a war; settle ideologies on the battlefield; not assassinate leaders."

"I understand. I understand why Council would not sanction this course of action. But I need you to understand, it's the course I'm embarking on. I have a plan. I know I can do this."

There was an uncomfortable pause. Rieekan looked to Solo, wondering if he'd find surprise, support or cynicism. But Solo seemed to be waiting for Skywalker to elaborate.

"You're giving me intelligence, Skywalker. I'm forced to tell Command. But before I bring this to the them," Rieekan probed delicately, "it might help if I have an idea of your plan."

Luke shook his head firmly. "No, sir. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to divulge it."

"May I ask then if you plan on utilizing Alliance resources?"

Luke smiled sadly. "I'm so sure Council would deny my request that my plan uses none."

"Just you?" Rieekan's careful Sabacc face now registered astonishment. "Sounds like just what Vader did and look where that got him. No one who should know, knows he's dead. I wouldn't want the same thing to happen to you, Skywalker."

"I appreciate that, Sir."

Solo had turned in his seat. "You can't go alone, Luke."

"Yoda will be with me," Luke told Han. "Still," Han protested. "You might do well with your Force thing, but it'll be helpful to have someone normal along -"

"I can't ask that of you, Han."

"You're not asking. I'm telling. I'm not sanctioned by Council. I can hot wire, shoot communication consoles," both men were smiling at a private memory, "and I look great in armor -"

"But-"

"General, has Chewbacca resigned his commission yet?" Han asked.

"I expect the paperwork is somewhere here on this desk." "Well, let him go. I'm gonna need him, too."

"Han -"

"Trust me, kid." Han patted Luke on the knee. "Sir," Han spoke to Rieekan, "I was going to enlist today," now it was Luke that looked at Han in genuine surprise, "but forget I was thinking anything. I'm with Luke. The Empire will be a whole easier to defeat once their figure head is dead. And the Alliance won't get its hands dirty if you know nothing about it."

The meeting with Rieekan went on longer than it should. He kept pressing Luke for details, who remained stubbornly reticent. Han, unable to contribute, had taken to swirling patterns in the sand with his boots, no longer listening. Finally he spoke in exasperation. "Let's cut the crap. We've been over this a hundred time already."

Rieekan looked pointedly at Han. He was developing a headache. If Solo had been one of his men, he'd have him reprimanded for his rudeness and lack of respect. But that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? The two men sitting before him were planning on going renegade and there wasn't a thing he could do to stop them. He sighed. "Renegades don't typically inform Command they are going renegade." He shook his head. "I'm sorry you brought this before me, Skywalker."

"I know, General. My only intent was to resign. We're still colleagues. We're still on the same side."

"You're awfully close to crossing the line."

"He's not close to crossing the line; he's just bending it," Han clarified for Rieekan.

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"Is this it?" Luke asked quietly, standing beside Han in a dark and cavernous room

. Han nodded. "Think so," he answered somberly. "I shouldn't have brought a light. Should have just counted my steps in the dark."

Luke extinguished his lamp. "It's unbelievably dark."

Chewie, now a former general of the Rebel Alliance, echoed Luke's sentiment. Luke let the silence of the darkness overwhelm him. The moment after he turned the lamp back on he noted Han's eyes were as dark as the room.

"Told ya it was."

Luke walked the expanse of the room. "It's big," he said. There was no response from Han.

"It doesn't matter how big it is," Chewie said. "If they never let you out, it's too small."

"Did they ever let you out?" Luke asked innocently.

Abruptly Han sat down on the sand, his forehead resting where his arms intersected over bent knees. Luke stared at Han's hands, dangling past his knees, and was reminded of the night Vader shot Han and Chewie had carried him to the _Falcon_ , his slack hand bouncing. Then, Han was fighting for his life. Now, it seemed to Luke, he might be fighting for his soul. "You okay, Han?"

He came across a long section of the wall where there appeared to be gouges carved. "What's this?" he asked, his fingers tracing it. "Looks like ….." The Force told him. A being, someone, had painstakingly made sure to note their time in the cell. There were a lot of marks. _"Six years,"_ a dull voice echoed in his head. Maranya. Luke nodded to himself. How else would she be able to tell how long she'd been here, from age twelve to eighteen, barely able to comprehend other simple concepts. She was able to count time. She'd made a calendar. "Maranya," he told Chewie quietly.

"The Simple Girl was in here, too?" Chewie asked.

Han looked miserable. "I shouldn't have come up here," he said. "I thought it'd be a triumph, Jabba dead and all, but I just want to puke. He got to his hands and knees and began to crawl on the sand, towards the door, and Luke thought he might, indeed, be physically ill.

"Come on, Han," he said. "Let's get out of here, then."

Chewie bent to take Han's elbow.

"I don't deserve her," Han muttered to the sand.

They pulled Han to his feet, and the three stumbled out to the corridor. Despite Han's nausea, he led them out the back way so they came out the hatch at the side of the palace and didn't have to talk to any of the base personnel. Chewie brought the skiff around and they sailed back toward the canyons. Han lay on his back on the deck, an arm slung over his face and ankles crossed. His rigid posture let them know he wasn't sleeping but he wouldn't talk to them either. Luke was perplexed. He was led to believe Han would have lingering soreness, fatigue and weakness, but why he should seem so sick was a mystery to him. He determined to ask Doc Brack to look Han over.

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Queasily, Leia and Yoda got off the skiff. It had been an uneasy ride. Their skiff, which usually glided over the sand smoothly, had bucked and rocked, jostling its passengers' skeletal frames as it lifted them up and then slammed them back down onto the benches.

"Just as dead as the wood of the skiff this tree spirit will be," Yoda declared, "if this desert I do not leave soon."

"They sent us back early," Leia explained in amazement to Luke and Han, who were peering upwards at something on the _Falcon_. "They're closing the port."

Luke nodded. "They don't play around with desert storms," he said. "By the looks on the radar, this one's a biggie. We might be laid up for days."

Yoda made a noise of disgust.

"I second that," Han said dryly. "C'mere, Luke. We need to figure out a way to keep sand out of the turbines." He had recovered from his malaise as quickly as it came on. He pulled Luke away, and Leia appraised him with a critical eye. He was still too thin, and his shirt was wouldn't stay tucked in his pants. From afar he looked boyish but it was in stark contrast to the deep rumble of his voice and the focus of his concentration, like the white of his shirt against the black vest.

She watched him move, his broad shoulders, long frame, fingers delicately splayed on the _Falcon's_ hull. She came to a decision. "I'm going to take a shower," she told Yoda.

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Leia sat on her bunk, trying to work out the tangles in her hair and unravel her feelings for Han.

She knew what she wanted to do. She just wasn't sure how to go about it. Han had told her he loved her, and that should be enough. But it wasn't. Her mind swirled with doubt and her heart stuttered with uncertainty about how to proceed.

She brought a brush through her hair, visualizing him as he had inspected his ship. He was all business about it but simultaneously impassioned about its security. It was those contradictions in him she found most appealing. He could be serious the same time he was irreverent; dangerous yet protective; possessive yet generous. Together he and she were a contradiction. He, physical and real; she ethereal and intellectual.

How would she bridge that gap? The physical aspects of a relationship were something that had eluded her. She was a princess, and because of her social status every time her face appeared on the news or gossip rags, the holos informed their audience that she was beautiful. Leia would look at the image of herself, and think they only called her that because she was the Princess. They stated that because they thought she should be beautiful, even if she wasn't. She had more money, more fame, more clothes, so of course it stood to reason she had more beauty. Its falseness had pierced her deeply.

As she had gotten older, her father and aunts had strongly cautioned her about relationships. Again, her status complicated matters. She would not know, they warned her, if a boy were sincere about her. He may want to associate with her merely because she was famous. Or because she was wealthy. Or because she had political contacts. Be certain, her father and aunts had said; trust with your head before you give your heart.

So she had carefully tucked her heart away. Boys, men; they had all kissed her. She had felt their lips on hers, looked at them with her eyes open, made her lips react, all the while thinking, _is this it? Are you sincere? How should I respond? How should I feel?_

And the Death Star had taught her that men are never sincere. If you are not in a position of power, of wealth, or fame, then you become just meat. They had looked at her with a hungry lust, pulled her hair, slapped her supposedly beautiful face, wrenched her gown up and forced themselves on her from behind, their chest armor bucking against her back the only thing she could feel because it made their bodies unwieldy and out of proportion.

The brush rested in her lap, idle, as her thoughts threatened to engulf her. Her physical self was numb and it might be so forever. And she almost wanted that, if it kept her safe. Underneath the armor were men, and Han Solo was a man. But her dreams….Her dreams were filled with longing, desire, sensation. Always for Han. She trusted that Han. Could she trust this real Han, this real and very physical Han?

Han had kissed her. She recalled it as she brought the brush back to her hair. It was the way he greeted her at Jabba's after his rescue. He was celebrating. It made her smile. There was no thought of fame, or money, or status, or sating desire. He had kissed her and her eyes had closed, and all she remembered thinking was how glad she was to touch him.

She had learned to listen to her dreams. They had yet to be false. She would do her best to listen again with Han.

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Leia passed Luke at the tech station on her way to the cockpit. C-3PO, standing beside him, was happy to give her an update.

"Captain Solo is in there, Mistress Leia. He is running a schematic to prepare for the storm. I must say he is in a most foul mood. Perhaps it is better to stay away from him for the time being."

Luke huffed humorously. "He was only foul to C-3PO," he told Leia.

"That's alright, 3PO," she answered. "I need to show him something."

Luke raised his eyebrows at her with a smile and Leia blushed furiously. _Shut up, Luke_ she scolded through the Force. She took a nervous breath and closed the cockpit door as she entered. Han's eyes watched it close, his expression amused.

"Hello, Princess," he greeted her, leaving the moment open.

He looked healthier, Leia thought. The prescribed nutrition from the medcenter had restored the sheen to his hair. His skin glowed tan once again.

"How's everything running?" she asked, standing very close to him, closer than she usually would. Closer than most people would who were talking about engine schematics.

"Smooth right now," he said, his eyes raking their closeness. "Sand's going to wreak havoc on her, though." He shrugged. "Won't know til it's over."

"Aren't we sheltered, here in the canyons?"

"Luke said the canyons were carved from sand storms. We'll be lucky if it doesn't cover us."

She made a noncommittal noise and grabbed the end fingers of his hand, squeezing the knuckle above the palm. Little by little, she told herself. "Could you sit down? My neck gets sore looking up at you."

A confused look crossed his face until he decided to be pleasantly surprised. Gallantly he moved to the captain's chair. "Sure."

She focused on his voice, imagining it like the wrappings of elegant gift boxes during the holiday season on Alderaan. Velvety soft, a rich burgundy or chocolate brown, something promising depth, elegance, sumptuousness.

"You look better," she told him, looking into his eyes.

"Better than what?" he said playfully.

"Just better. Healthier." She dared move her hands to his shoulders. "You lost so much weight." Her heart thrummed in her throat and she employed every ounce of her willpower to not step back.

Her talk was tepid, light, inane. He seemed to understand her motives though and answered in kind, carefully, putting both hands to the small of her back but careful not to bring her closer. She watched his lips part, heard him inhale, but it was a moment before he spoke. "The menu wasn't very varied at Jabba's," he commented.

She nodded, now staring at the shirt over his chest. "You were malnourished. He must have aimed to starve you."

Han said nothing but kept the pressure of his hands. A pool of warmth sat at the base of her spine. "Although how long did Maranya eat like that? She lived on it six years," Leia reflected.

Han's hands dropped and he leaned heavily back in the seat. Leia saw the mood had shifted. Was it her chatter?

"Yeah," he answered, his voice like granite. Still lovely but flat, hard, and cold. "She moved around more than me." She saw him shudder. "She got to sneak food sometimes."

 _What just happened?_ Leia wondered. _What did I do wrong?_ "Han," she finally brought herself to say, as he had nothing to offer.

"What?"

"What….what can I do?" She cringed, completely at a loss.

He looked at her. His eyes were sad and kind and brown. He reached out and squeezed her hand. "Nothing. But…." he wouldn't let her answering gaze go. They held each other with a stare, silent and eloquent. "Thanks," he said finally.

 _For what?_ she wanted to ask. _For offering to help? For reminding you of Jabba? For making a fool of myself?_ She nodded, her eyes downcast. "You're welcome," she whispered and left the cockpit.

Luke's gaze followed her down the corridor. She felt his puzzlement. _Not now, Skywalker,_ she ordered.

He knew, when she called him by his last name, to leave her alone. He swiveled his head to the cockpit, felt Han only focused on the task at hand. _Hmm_ , Luke thought.

"I did warn her, did I not, Master Luke, regarding Captain Solo's foul temper."

"You did, 3PO," Luke said, only half paying attention. "Now bring me up a map from the docking bays to the Imperial Palace."

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The storm started after the midday meal. Chewie had activated the holochess table and was beginning a game with Maranya. She delighted in the little animated figures and had taken to playing by herself sometimes. 3PO told her Chewie had spotted her a move and began to coach her. Doc Brack was just getting up to clear plates when they heard it. A rumble, a thundering, a roaring. The air howled and swirled. Luke nodded to everyone's eyes. "That's it," he stated simply.

"Listen," Leia said. Her lips parted as she listened intently. "It's furious," she said.

"It's not even in the canyons yet," Luke explained. "That's the front. What makes it dangerous in the canyons is it backs up – can't move freely around the rock. Like a crowd trying to get through one door at the same time," he explained. "There's all this built up energy as it jams. Then all of a sudden comes this tremendous release. It's been known to knock a ship over in the canyons."

"Oh dear," C-3PO reacted. "Perhaps we should have departed and found a safer place to wait out the storm."

"Too late now," Han said. "We'll be fine. We're bigger than most ships that dock in the canyons. And," he shrugged nonchalantly, "if we do get knocked over, I'll just turn her right when we start up."

"Helpful, it is," Yoda intoned, "to turn matters on their sides. A different perspective one gets."

Han rolled his eyes. Yoda was speaking in riddles again.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read somewhere that Coruscant, the basis for galactic time-keeping, maintained a 24 hour day, so I have used that here.

Just when the suns reached their apex in the sky, the storm swept the yellow of daylight away. Sand rose to incredible heights, blocking the sky, the air broken into pixels. The _Millennium Falcon_ was like the desert's canvas. She sat passively while pellets of sand attempted to pummel dents in her hull. The winds twisted sensor arrays and rivers of sand filled in the grooves of spaces where metal joined metal.

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1400 Ship's Time, Day One

"We haven't told you our big news yet," Luke told Leia. She noted his silly grin, like a little kid just busting to spill a secret.

Big news was not often good news to her. "What big news?" The wind howled just like the blood in her ears. Her breath quickened as she anxiously awaited his announcement.

"I resigned as Commander of Rogue Squadron."

Leia felt herself shrinking inside. "You what?"

"I had to," Luke said, almost pleading. "Think, Leia. Rieekan all but said the Emperor is never going to be a target. He's a Sith. Yoda and I have to be the ones to handle him."

Leia turned to Han. "What about you?" "Well," Han puffed himself up mockingly. "I almost enlisted, but then I didn't."

"So you're going to do nothing," Leia concluded.

"Not at all!" Luke hastened to save the moment. "He's coming with me. He thinks I should have someone 'normal' with me." He shot Han a dirty Luke.

Han grinned. "Didn't think you caught that."

"You told Rieekan this?" Leia was furious. "How am I going to get to Sullust?" she demanded.

"Leia," Luke sputtered.

"No, Luke," she broke in. "Don't _you_ ever think? I'm on the High Council. You two clowns have left the Rebellion!"

"Technically, I've never -" Han started to say.

"Shut up!" She struck him. "I'm on a ship with a bunch of vigilantes. What if I wanted to come with you?"

"Well," Luke said uncomfortably, "you can't."

"How am I getting to Sullust?" she demanded again. "Do you expect me to arrange my own transport after the storm clears? I thought we were going together."

"We'll take you, right Han?"

"Sure," Han said. "I doubt they'll shoot us down."

"You're not helping, Han." Luke said.

"Seriously, we'll take you, Leia," Han said. He tried to reach for her hand but she snatched it away. "We've got that supply run to deliver anyway."

"That's right," her tone was bitter and sharp. "Just drop me off with the rest of your cargo," she shouted as she stomped away.

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1530 Ship's Time, Day One

It was in the first hours of the storm when Han raised his voice at Maranya.

"I've told you a hundred times, you can't eat there! Food's only in the lounge, okay? This is all working equipment," his arms encompassed the engineering station and the communication console. "I can't have it go on the fritz 'cause someone spilled their drink. Now move!"

Maranya got up wordlessly and deposited her thin frame at holochess table.

"Come, Simple Girl," Chewie invited her. "Let's have a game."

"First Mate Chewbacca wants to know if you would like to play holochess," C-3PO told the young girl.

Her smile, with the uncorrected jawline, was like a happy grimace.

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1900 Ship's Time, Day One

"We're not going to lose power, are we?" Doc Brack asked as he placed the meat in the cooker for the evening meal.

"Not unless sand gets in the generators," Luke answered. "But that's unlikely."

"I was unaware of the storms while at Jabba's, "Doc Brack informed Luke. "I suppose it was very sheltered."

Chewie gave an audible snort. He sat morosely at the table, his large hands covering his ears.

"Well, it was, in its own way," the medic countered. "Jabba was what Jabba was, but the palace was almost indestructible."

"What do you there?" Yoda asked Maranya, pointing the knife he used to chop greens. She was at the table, marking on a flimsi with a stylus.

"It's our sixth hour of the Sands," Maranya told him. "I'm keeping count."

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2100 Ship's Time, Day One

Han was in Bay 5, scouring and rummaging. Dinner had not been very appealing and he had a blistering headache along with no appetite.

"Han!" Her tone made him turn and immediately react in past patterns. "Yes, Your Worship?"

"Have you been taking your medication?" Leia demanded. She was stern and superior.

"Uh, yeah," he offered dubiously.

"That's what I thought," she scorned. Abruptly a vial appeared from where it had waited behind her back.

"You counting my pills?" He felt his face flush.

"Don't lie to me Han Solo! You haven't been taking them. You should be done in four days and there are six day's worth in here."

"Who are you to go through my stuff?"

"You've got to keep taking these, Han, even if you feel better. I don't care if you want to live with the pain, but the antibiotics and the steroids are important for your lungs to recover."

"Stop treating me like some invalid. I can take care of myself," he snapped.

"Obviously you can't, or else the pill count would be right," she snapped back.

"I already got 3PO for a nag so just leave me alone," he growled.

"You don't remember, Han, but I do," she shouted, her voice breaking with urgent emotion. "It was traumatic. There was blood _everywhere_ and you were dying. Do you understand? You were dying."

He crossed the bay and hugged her. "Shh," he hushed in her hair. "I'm fine." He was touched by how fervently she spoke. "I'm fine."

She snapped out of his embrace and slapped his shoulder hard. "Not if you don't take your pills," she snarled, throwing them on the floor. She walked out of the bay.

"And I said I can take care of myself," he shouted after her departing form. He kicked a crate. Then he bent down and opened the vial, swallowing two pills without water. Maybe it would help with his headache.

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2300 Ship's Time, Day One

"Are you gonna sleep with those on?" Han asked Chewie. They were in the cockpit, getting ready to set the night cycle. Outside the cockpit window it was completely dark, if darkness was the color of sand. When Han leaned forward to find a star all he saw was dark sand, so thick its motion could barely be discerned.

"What?" Chewie asked, pointing at his headset.

Han lifted one of the ear coverings off the Wookiee's head. "I said, how are you going to sleep wearing those?"

"I won't be able to at all if I don't," Chewie said. "The noise of the storm hurts my ears."I set watch just between you, me and Luke and Leia. You wanna take it now, or later?"

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0500 Ship's Time, Day Two

"…...based on grave sites, some researchers believe…." C-3PO expounded while Luke and Han had kaf the next morning. The storm had remained constant in its fury, battling the ship with its howling wind.

"Can I shoot him?" Han asked Luke for the second time.

"No," Luke answered belligerently.

"…..holochess was played by leaders as a substitution for actual battle…."

"Please?"

Luke laughed. "No."

"….this due in part to a historic drought which….."

"How can you just sit there?"

"I'm not," Luke said. "I'm studying Coruscant. Let the storm do its thing, Han."

Han sighed.

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0830 Ship's Time, Day Two

Han prowled through the ship, inspecting the seals at each view port. Yoda, Luke and Leia were deep in conversation at the lounge table. Instead of the animated holochess figures, it was covered with flimsis. A holo of the destroyed Jedi temple hovered in the center.

"It would be symbolic of a fresh start, you know what I mean?" Luke was saying to Yoda.

"Maranya," Han snapped, seeing her raise a fork to her mouth from her seat at the tech station.

Guiltily she stopped chewing. Her gaze indicated the table helplessly.

"Make room for her," Han ordered. "She knows she's not supposed to eat there."

Luke inched closer to Yoda.

"We need room to spread out all this data," Leia said.

"Then use your quarters, or the floor in Bay one." His voice was full of irritation. "I swept up the fur. It's clean."

Yoda sighed. "Noisy, is that one," he said of Han.

"He's restless," Luke said.

"A prisoner again of the desert is he," Yoda commented. "What hour of the storm is this, Maranya?"

She checked her flimsi, which she carried with her everywhere. "Nineteen, I think. Nineteen or twenty. I didn't notice what time I went to sleep."

"You turned in at the night cycle. Twenty three hundred," Leia informed her.

Luke looked at her. "Why do you know that?"

Leia shrugged.

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1000 Ship's Time, Day Two

A new noise had them freeze where ever they happened to be. It lasted several heartbeats and the ship actually seemed to tilt upwards.

"Goodness," Doc Brack said, his face upwards, ignoring the box Han was trying to hand him.

Han nodded slightly, impressed. "A gust," he determined. "Just a gust. If it came at us full speed, all the time, I'd worry."

The ship moved again.

"Captain Solo," C-3PO said in his most anxious tone. "The chances of a wind gust powerful enough to overturn the _Falcon_ are five hundred sixty seven to one."

"Maybe you oughta find somewhere to strap in, since you're so worried," Han said. "And shut down," he added hopefully.

"Oh no, Sir, I possibly could not. I must remain on duty to act as translator for exchanges between First Mate Chewbacca, Doctor Maldevi, and Maranya."

"Yeah, holochess is real important," Han drawled.

"Maranya has improved," C-3PO miffed.

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1145 Ship's Time, Day Two

Han, hands clasped behind his head, observed Luke and Leia wryly.

 _Twins_ , he mused. It was fantastic. It was crazy. But it was true, it had to be. He snapped his seat forward. "You're talking about walking straight into the rancor's den," he said.

The irony wasn't lost on Luke. "A slight variation on our previous operandus," he smiled. "Where is the entrance for Senators?" he asked Leia.

"Here," she pointed. "You mean where was. This map is outdated. Surely they've either closed it, or used it for some other purpose." She had stopped trying to talk Luke out of his insane mission to Coruscant, resigning herself to arming him with as much preparation as she could.

"I hope you have a Plan B," Han said.

"Don't you have a bay to clean?" Leia said pointedly.

"Yes," Han said darkly, and he left.

"We should involve him more in the plan. He's insisting on coming," Luke told Leia.

"When he shows an interest in it," she retorted.

They stopped, lifting their heads to listen for danger as the ship was rocked by another powerful gust.

"What's going on?" Luke asked Leia.

"The storm's intensifying," Leia answered thoughtfully.

"No, I mean what is going on?" he insisted.

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1300 Ship's Time, Day Two Han still had little appetite and worked through the midday meal. It was too crowded in the lounge anyway.

He directed the fumigator over the sleeping pallets, blankets, and pillows the freed slaves had used the nights they remained on board. He sighed, wondering what parasites lurked in the bedding. He would run the blankets through the autovalet too.

He dragged a pallet, not heavy but awkward and cumbersome, and passed through the lounge. Maranya, for once, was eating at t he table.

He paused for breath, looking over the tidy group enjoying a meal together in silence. His anger, always simmering below the surface, gushed forth.

"I thought you were going to arrange for her jaw to be fixed," he accused Leia.

She looked from Maranya to Han, surprised. "I am," she told him smartly. "She was supposed to have it done at Sullust, if she left with the others on the shuttle. But she didn't because Luke took her back to her farm."

"That was days ago. You've been going to port each day, you could have brought her in with you."

Leia fought to keep her temper. "Yes, but I didn't know I'd be going. I expected to return to Sullust sooner. Each day something new was arranged. And you were in the medcenter -"

"-good a time as any to start a new patient."

"-and the timing just didn't work out, Han." He was making her feel guilty. He was right; she probably could have arranged for it, if she had put more thought into it. She had arranged care for the others promptly and efficiently, but something about Maranya… and Han….and him in the medcenter….she hadn't done it.

Luke groaned and thumped his forehead on the table.

"She can't even eat," Han said with disgust.

"Well, it's storming now, it's not like we can do it now, is it?"

"Just get it done."

"You get it done if it's so important to you!"

Luke banged his head up and down several times.

Han dragged the pallet away. "If I have to I will," he shouted.

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1545 Ship's Time, Day Two

"Do you mind if I increase the lighting?" Doc Brack asked, trying to cut through the tension. "It seems to be getting dimmer and dimmer in here."

Chewie, still wearing the headset over his sensitive ears, got up and checked the engineering console. "System's are working," he told them, and C-3PO offered a translation. "There must be less natural light." He touched another button, bringing up a different screen. It read 'no data'. Chewie grunted. "Storm's knocked out the radar. I can't see its position now."

"Oh dear," C-3PO said in alarm. "We're doomed!"

"Merely because one cannot see," Yoda said, "means not one is doomed." He pointed at the droid. "A pessimist, the being who programmed you."

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1700 Ship's Time, Day Two

Han had dozed off in Bay nine. The day caught up with him. The activity, the heavy lifting, the noise and power of the storm, was wearing down his defenses. He felt ill, trapped.

He was in his cell, sitting cross legged in the sand. It was dark but he could see. Clearly, as if in a spotlight, Yoda sat next to him. They were sketching in the sand. Yoda with his walking stick and Han with the staff of a pike ax a Gamorrean guard had lent him.

Yoda's was of simple shapes. Han recognized an obelisk, triangles and rectangles.

"The Jedi temple," Yoda announced to Han. There was sadness, longing, grief in his voice.

"Draw the smoke," Han requested, and Yoda scribbled in some lines at the top of the obelisk.

"That's it," Han approved. "That lets you know there's bodies inside."

Yoda whacked Han across the chest with his stick. "Remind me not," he said sternly. "Now you draw."

Han's style was simple, like Yoda's. "And what is that?" Yoda asked.

"It's my ship," Han answered, insulted Yoda didn't recognize it. "It's my port in the storm."

Luke crashed into the room, wearing Storm Trooper armor. "I'm Luke Skywalker," he told them. "I'm your brother."

"Whose?" Han frowned. His finger pointed between Yoda and himself.

"Yours," Luke told him.

"Oh," Han said, pleased. He thought back to his childhood. "Did I live with you?"

"No," Luke answered shaking his head. "I'm a moisture farmer," he said, as if that explained everything.

"Where is your port in the storm?" Yoda asked Han.

"Uh, out there, somewhere," Han said, not sure. "There's a storm alright," Luke said. "We can't leave."

Luke raised his hand and sand began to fall in the room like snow.

"Hey!" Han protested angrily.

"Cover up my Temple, you did," Yoda protested.

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2100 Ship's Time, Day Two

"How often does it storm?" Han asked Luke when he came to relieve him from watch duty.

"There's a season for them, sixth to ninth months. It's pretty haphazard though. Sometimes you'll get no storms, sometimes you'll get a bunch. The desert's so big, you know? Once, I remember, I was about twelve, a storm lasted seven days."

"Seven!" Han exclaimed. "How the hells did you get through that?"

"Well, there's time to prepare. So you go to market, and you buy supplies. Like batteries, and fuel, for the generators and the fans, food, stuff like that. Water gets real expensive."

"I can imagine," Han muttered, thinking of Luke as a twelve year old boy.

"But it's like a holiday," Luke reminisced. "There's no school, and no chores."

"Sounds boring."

"Well, you can't go visiting, but you play cards, and read, and download holofilms. My aunt played the clangstring, and my uncle sang. We made music. I played percussion," Luke said proudly.

"You had a set?" Han asked curiously. "No, I just banged on things. Droid heads, rubber lids."

Han could picture it perfectly. He smiled.

"Times like that made you close, you know?"

"Yeah, I guess." "That year, they had to add five days to the school calendar. That was a bitch."

Han chuckled. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

2115 Ship's Time, Day Two

Maranya munched on a sweet bread Chewie and Yoda had purchased a few days ago. It was getting stale, but it was still softer than the hunks of bread she ate at Jabba's, and the sweet glaze on top was delightful.

Leia took a seat at the lounge table. "You'd better sit over here, before Captain Solo catches you," she told the girl.

Maranya silently collected her sweet bread and sat next to Leia.

"You know," Leia began softly, watching Maranya eat, "you won't be hungry again. You'll always have enough to eat now, with us."

Maranya nodded and took another bite.

"I wanted to tell you about what you can expect when we leave here," Leia started again. She saw she had the girl's attention and continued. "We're going to a place called Sullust. It's another planet, like Tatooine, only very different. But we'll be housed at a military base, in orbit. Do you know what that means?

"No," Maranya shook her head. "We'll be docked in space. The military base is because we're at war. There are soldiers and spacecraft and weapons, but we'll live there too. There's a gym, and a cafeteria," Leia had no idea what the new base looked like, but Rieekan had given her the impression it was fairly well established and complete.

"What will I do?" Maranya asked.

Leia appraised her frankly. "I'm not sure," she replied honestly. "First, we'll give you time to recover. Get your body healthy. You'll go to the medical ward and have a complete evaluation. They'll fix your jaw."

Maranya rubbed it."Good. It hurts."

"I'm sure it does. Once you're recovered, they'll give you tests, to see what you know and what you can be good at."

"Tests?"

"Yes, like you had in school."

"Oh." Maranya nodded, disinterested.

Leia sighed. It was so hard to reach this girl. "How long were you on your own at Jabba's? Did you have a friend?" Leia cringed at her attempts at conversation. "Someone to help you?" Friends and Jabba… the terms did not go together.

Maranya considered. "T'Linka helped me."

"T'Linka?"

Maranya nodded, remembering the Twi'lek female who rinsed her body of blood after her first night. And held her. "She was nice. She taught me tricks."

"She must have been very important to you. Did she… was she the same… was she a slave too?"

"Yes, but a cleaner."

"What happ...did she… was she on the skiff with us? Is she free?"

"Free from life," Maranya said. It's what all the slaves called it when there was a death. T'Linka had been a tough personality. She would have lasted a long time. "She got sick and Jabba had her go to the Rancor."

Leia felt sick. "Oh, Maranya. What you've been through."

"What?" Maranya asked with interest.

Leia shook her head. The girl had no idea how depraved her life had become. She was going to ask more about what her duties at the palace were, but her own self-preservation called a warning. "It's night cycle," she said instead. "We should turn in."

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0500 Ship's Time, Day Three

He was pretty sure the sand had covered the ship up to the cockpit. The sand looked like something was pressing it against the glass. It looked walled, dense. He spread his fingers up to the glass as if he could gauge it.

As soon as Chewie entered to relieve Han of watch hours later Han pounced on him, ripping off the headset. "Listen," he told Chewie.

The Wookiee cocked his head. "Listen to what?"

"Exactly. It's dead silent up here. We can't hear the storm because we got covered." Chewie sighed in pleasure. "Finally. Silence." He took off his headset and tossed them aside.


	32. Chapter 32

The storm raged on. Maranya marked the forty second hour. Inside it was hard to believe the weather outside was so violent. But the sands had apparently covered a good portion of the _Millennium Falcon_ , rendering it dark and silent inside the ship.

Leia sat in the cockpit, bathed in the gentle glow of the console indicator lights. She sat motionless, her preoccupation stilling her movements. _Don't worry_ , she voiced silently to the ship. _We're cocooned_. Ever since Dagobah, when she'd undertaken to keep the jungle growth away from her, Leia had felt a kind of kinship with the freighter. _As soon as the storm blows over, you'll emerge from the sand, like a butterfly, and we'll fly away_.

Leia found herself drifting in perspectives of time; the past, present and future. She tried using the past to build the future. The failure of the Old Republic must not be repeated. The ruins of the Jedi Temple loomed in her mind's eye, a symbol of conflicting desires, passions, and ambitions. Like this storm, she mused. Violent and swirling, covering things up. She hoped to emerge from it cleansed.

 _Emerge. From the cocoon_. Her free association continued. _A Metamorphosis. What will I be when I leave here?_ It was so hard to see, through her present. It was easier to picture herself withering away from fear and loneliness to emerge as – what?

 _I can either transform, or fossilize_. She was at war with her heart and her head. Her heart pumped blood, and when she thought of Luke and Han her heart warmed her, heated her. It was quiet, constant, but background noise to her head. Her brain prompted little conversations with her. It told her to not trust Han when he looked at her with those smoldering eyes; it told her to resent Luke for leaving her. One told her to enjoy the sensations of life, to revel in the physical; the other warned her isolation was the only way to stay safe.

Leia sighed. There were things she could wish for her future. She could wish for peace. Even if she won peace, formed the New Republic, would she ever be at peace, though? She didn't want to hear the voices of her father, her aunts, and the storm troopers, in her head. Somewhere, Leia was in there, and Leia had a voice. She wanted to hear Leia; wanted to hear her sing.

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The evening meal simmered next to a pot of water. The air was moist with steam and smelled hospitable. Han hoisted a case of wine to the counter.

"Are we celebrating?" Doc Brack asked as he noticed Han uncork a bottle of wine.

Han smiled. The medic had asked out of polite interest but Han thought it was funny. "Sure," he answered. "Why not? Let's drink to the – what is it, Maranya?

" "Forty three hours," she answered promptly, flicking her flimsi on. "We'll celebrate forty three hours of storm," Han said.

"The wine is a refreshing change after forty three hours," Doc Brack encouraged. He dished out the evening's meal, ladling extra sauce and less meat for Maranya, since she couldn't chew tough meat well with her disfigured jaw. "Here, take some bread, dear," he told her.

"The wine is because the water tanks are almost empty," Han admitted. "It recycles from the 'fresher and autovalet, but I'd rather we don't drink that."

"A desert inside it becomes as well as out?" Yoda asked in horror.

"This has got to be an economical disaster for Mos Eisley," Leia commented.

"Mmm," Luke wished he could contribute more to the topic. It was his home world, after all. But the world of finance had never been his strong suit. He knew of port closings when he was a boy, but had never paid much attention to what it meant to the tradesbeings of the port city.

"Didja know there are fifty seven cantinas in Mos Eisley alone?" Han said as he passed glasses of wine around. "I counted 'em."

"How?" Leia asked with mock innocence. "Have a drink in all of them?"

"No," Han explained, glaring at her. "There was a business directory in my room at the medcenter. I got bored one day and read it. There's fifty seven, and," he continued, "the permanent resident population is only twelve thousand."

"What does that mean?" Luke asked, risking the patient tone of voice Leia took on when she explained something that was obvious to her but not to him. But it was Han that answered him. "It means those businesses are supported by visiting traffic to the port. And supported well enough that hospitality is listed as the highest grossing industry on Tatooine."

"Jabba wasn't the highest grossing industry?" Again Han couldn't tell if Doc Brack was genuine or if he had the drollest sense of humor he'd ever encountered. But it struck him as funny and he smiled as he swallowed some wine.

"It sure isn't moisture farming," Luke said. It didn't seem that Han, with his business acumen and self-proclaimed luck, should be the down-on-his-luck smuggler he met in a cantina three years ago. "Why aren't you rich, Han?" he drunkenly thought out loud. "You tell us you do things for money."

"Wealth is temporary," Han said with wisdom.

Chewie chuckled. "Because your brains are too," he joked. "Hey," Han shrugged. "Things get in the way."

"Like upgrades for a certain YT-1300?" Luke smiled.

"That, and bad Sabacc hands, and Wookiees and Princesses."

"Make your brains more permanent," Leia said dryly, disregarding the Princess reference. "It's how you got in this mess." With sudden clarity she realized he, also, was at war with his heart and head. Only he ignored whatever conversation his brain instigated. And his heart got him in so much trouble. She didn't like to think of it. She changed the subject quickly, not letting her own head draw a conclusion. "Has she had alcohol before?" she asked Doc Brack, indicating Maranya.

Doc Brack sized the girl up. "Good question. Maranya," he posed to her, "did the guests let you drink what they were having?"

 _Guests?_ Leia said to herself.

Maranya shrugged. "Sometimes."

"Guess we'll find out," Doc Brack beamed, and he dug into his meal.

They killed four bottles before the meal was entirely over. Yoda passed around a plate of fruits and Doc Brack sighed contentedly.

"I feel liberated," Doc Brack said.

"You mean inebriated," Han said.

"Why, Captain Solo, I believe I recognize an attempt at humor. You did not quite achieve a pun, certainly irony, and definitely rhyme and alliteration, where words contain the same -" C-3PO began to congratulate him.

"Shut up, mechanical," Chewie said. "Now is not the time for protocol."

Leia, eyes hooded from a bit too much wine, silently thanked the Wookiee. "That's not even protocol," she murmured. "Grammar?"

"I've actually thought about the future. Haven't thought of it in years," Doc Brack continued. "Didn't think I had one anymore."

"Life's greatest tragedy, when a future gone is," Yoda said.

"What will you do?" Leia asked, blinking at him blearily. "I should like to return the favor," he told her. "You gave me back my future. I should like to spend it with you. Or rather," he flushed, "the Rebel Alliance. I should like to serve as medic."

Leia accepted his decision with dignity. "I'm sure your services will benefit us greatly," she told him. It sounded like a stock answer, but his eagerness made her sad. She tried to ignore her brain telling her how nice it was for the medic to find a place to call home, but that she wouldn't, especially now that Luke and Han would leave her at the base by herself.

"What about kaf in the morning? Is there water to make kaf?" Luke asked suddenly. Leia looked at him sympathetically. It had been a long time since either had imbibed so much, and both were feeling the effects of several glasses of wine.

Han gave it some thought. He debated making Luke suffer, but realized he enjoyed kaf too. "I suppose we could distill some water in the galley." He turned to Maranya. "That'd be a good job for you."

She nodded at him, and Leia's eyes flicked back and forth between Han and Maranya.

She hadn't even scratched the surface of how they were connected at Jabba's. She knew he had made a point to bring her out of the throne room, the only slave he made sure was with them. The others had merely latched on to them as the social structure of the palace fell apart. She remembered what Jabba had called her, remembered Maranya had been brought forward for a purpose, but never served it. Han had stopped her. Luke had also mentioned to her that Maranya and Han were in the same cell. When she thought anymore it was like ice water being poured throughout her intestines. She was uncomfortable. Uncomfortable with thinking about it; uncomfortable observing them.

And she couldn't figure out how Han felt about Maranya. He wasn't friendly to her at all, but he watched out for her. Right now he was teaching her how to distill water, to use the equipment in the galley.

Leia closed off all but her ears as she listened to his instruction. His voice was patient, and he said the same thing several ways to make sure she understood it.

"This is the burner. It heats the water in the pot. Gets real hot, so don't touch it. The water will cook and when it boils, -do you know what that is? No? Big bubbles form, and they roll around." He made exaggerated movements with his hands. "Let it boil for two minutes. Then turn the burner off. Like this. Don't get any on your skin. It burns. Got it?"

Maranya nodded vigorously. "Solo, are you in or not?" Doc Brack invited him to a game of Sabacc.

"Sure, deal me in," Han responded and went to join them back at the lounge table. Eyes still closed, Leia knew he joined them, and not because she felt the weight of the upholstered bench sink or because she heard the rustling of fabric. She felt his presence, and somehow it was hers; that's how she knew. He was looking at her, she could tell. She let her lips part and a slight smile graced her mouth. Then she opened her eyes. Wryly she asked her brain, _well, what do you make of that_?

There was something between them, an allure neither could deny. It would happen when they weren't alone, and she would watch him work, and find her body leaning toward him like it was pulled by a magnet. She ached for him to touch her, her lips parted and her eyes smokey. He would turn to look at her, as if he could hear her body, his eyes burning, and as he left she would follow him, no longer embarrassed by Luke's awareness. They would meet; somewhere, anywhere, alone; and step into one another, clutching, rubbing, caressing passionately.

And then something would happen. She knew sometimes it was her, her own nervousness at letting go so physically; but other times it seemed to be him. Was he being careful with her, could he hear the voices of her father and aunts, warning her? Were they warning him? His lips would leave wherever he was inciting a barrage of heat and chills, and a barrier would spring up, and he would look at her, both of them breathing heavily, and his swallow was deep with regret. They would return to the crowd, and go back to whatever it was they were doing before the magnet had pulled at them, and they would rake each other's bodies with sad desire.

The hum of their voices; Luke's, Han's, Doc Brack's and Chewie's, got blurry. She was exceptionally sleepy and comfortable. They were talking about scars. It went on a while; childhood incidents, accidents, fights. Doc Brack brought up a patient who found himself in the medcenter for inserting something in his ear. Leia didn't hear the whole story, but Chewie and Han found it hilarious. Luke was winning the scar tally, placing his foot on the table and lifting up his pants leg, which she found odd and which made her stop drifting off to sleep. Maranya was waving her hand through the steam of the pot of water.

"Captain Solo, you must see this," C-3PO shuffled into the galley with his arms upraised.

Han bit back an urge to shoot the droid again. "See what?" he said tiredly.

"I was preparing the ship for the night cycle," the droid began to explain, "when I noticed something quite unusual. You must come for yourself. It is quite alarming."

Han sighed, received a sympathetic look from the others at the table, and followed the droid out to the hatch.

"What?" But he saw it immediately. Sand. "Shit," he swore. A little puddle of sand had wormed its way through the hatch seal.

"It's coming inside!" C-3PO announced in a panicky tone. "Will it overwhelm us?"

Han threw him a dirty look. He noticed everyone was standing in the entryway, looking at the puddle of sand and looking anxious. "Nothing to worry about," he told them.

Chewie was sweeping the sand up. "The other seals should be checked," he mentioned to Han.

Han nodded. He was already planning on doing that. But it meant crawling around some pretty tight spaces. He glanced at the group. Someone small then. Yoda….no, he used a walking stick. Too old. Sighed too much. Maranya or Leia were small. Maranya was certainly wispy enough. "Hey, Leia," he chose. "Would you help me check the rest of the seals?"

They did the upper gun turret first. The lower perimeter of the view port along the seal was blocked on most sides by missile bays, satellite positioning equipment and other types of gear and wiring whose purpose Leia had no idea.

The view from the turret was gorgeous. Even with nothing to see. It was the idea of jutting into the sky, of being part of space instead of in space. They seemed to dangle in the air, permanently hovering.

"Here, take this," Han held out an indicator of some sort. "Just go around the edges, read the seals, make sure it stays in the green."

"What if there's a weakness?" she asked.

"Then we reseal," he said frankly. "It's routine maintenance, especially if the turrets are used. We're not due, but I don't want to take the chance on sand getting in here messing up the equipment. I usually have a mouse droid do it."

She moved around the edges of the view port, measuring the seals. At times she had to step carefully over wires or equipment, and once when she bent low she snagged her braids on something. She pressed the indicator back into his waiting hand.

"All clear, Captain," she said. She craned her neck up to see into his face. He took a step closer to her, his hand trying to replace the coil of braid that had come undone.

"Oh, my hair," she prattled nervously, putting her own hands up to help organize it. "It's too long to be doing stuff like this." Her hands touched his, which were tucking ends back in near her nape. She felt goosebumps rise all over.

"I love your hair," he said, his voice quiet.

She kept her hands on his. She was nervous but she had always loved his hands.

"It's got your essence," he murmured, his mouth above her ear.

"It springs from my head," she blurted, and was surprised at his hearty laughter. She cursed her brain for betraying her. "I mean, I'm always thinking, and -"

He was smiling. "See? What I said. It's all you."

She quieted, and her brain got control by teasing. "That's why yours is short?"

He appreciated her humor. "Yup," he grinned. "I don't think near enough." He wrapped his arms over her back. "I'm not going to hurt you, Sweetheart," he murmured.

She nodded against his shirt. "I know." She clutched desperately at him, her brain screaming a warning of men and their lust, her heart arguing _let him let him_ ; wanting him, no longer afraid of him, and he held her with his arms high on her back, safe and comforting. He didn't move until he felt her relax and then he spoke into her hair, and she could feel his breath down to her scalp. "Let's go do the other turret."

She followed him, aware of a quiet in her head, a tacit approval. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There came a sudden awful yowling, as if the storm's winds now came through the leak in the hatch. It found its way through all areas of the ship and everyone stopped whatever it was they had been doing to run to is source.

Maranya stood in the galley, howling, her hands held, Han thought, like C-3PO's. She did a little dance with her feet shuffling in place, and her face was a horrible grimace of pain and shock.

"What happened?" Han shouted.

"She burned herself," Leia said worriedly. "Doc Brack went to get-"

"What'd you touch it for?" Han demanded of Maranya through her tears. "I told you it gets hot!"

"Han, leave her alone!" Leia yelled over the two. "She's hurt!"

"Lemme see." Han's voice was stern and unforgiving. He grabbed her hands, shaking his head in horror as nasty blisters appeared on the outside of her palms and finger pads. She kept dancing. He saw she had dropped the pot. "Where else?" he barked. "Did you burn your legs?"

Doc Brack came and pried Maranya's hands out of Han's grip. Chewie handed Han a mop and took Maranya's head in his big hands. He rubbed her short hair, making that special soothing sound Leia remembered from when Han was so critically injured.

Han slammed the mop handle to the ground. "It's got a handle, Maranya. Anyone can see that. How can you be so stupid? I told you not to pick it up. Look what you did! You've got burns fucking everywhere -"

"Han!" Leia shouted. "I said leave her alone! It's not her fault."

He whirled on her. "Not her fault?" he repeated, his face sneering. "She picked the fucking pot of fucking boiling water up with her fucking hands!"

"Go!" Chewie pushed his partner roughly on the shoulders. "You are not helping. Go, and calm down. Do not come back. We are tending to her. Yelling at her does not fix things."

Leia stood there, noticing her chest was heaving. _My heart_.

Maranya was calming, the ointment's pain relief working quickly.

"I'll get her a sedative," Doc Brack said. He gently steered Maranya to the bay which he and she shared. "Let her sleep it off."

"How did it happen?" Luke asked. He picked up the mop handle and began to clean the spilled water.

"Dropped it, she did," Yoda told him. "Not strong is she."

"Poor Maranya," Luke sighed.

Leia nodded and took a seat at the table. "That looked very painful."

"Doc Brack will take care of her," Luke assured her.

"She isn't very strong," Leia said, agreeing with Yoda. "At all. She's been having nightmares." Leia didn't know why she brought that up. It was a different kind of weakness, possibly not a weakness at all.

It had been a long time since Leia had a nightmare. She still dreamed of the Death Star and Alderaan, but they were sad dreams. The passage of time may have had something to do with their change in intensity, but she also felt it was a time when her brain slept at last, and her heart was expressing itself in the quiet.

"I wonder what she was like, before her father sold her," Luke commented. "She was twelve." He remembered telling Han a story from when he was twelve. He was just a boy. He liked to build models, play hologames, whined if his aunt or uncle told him to go to bed. "To become a sex slave, raped really, every night…." his voice faded away.

Leia looked troubled. She hadn't known the whole story.

"From her first night, in shock is she, six years long," Yoda said.

"Do you think she can recover, Master Yoda?" Luke asked.

Yoda nodded. "Your friend, present is he."

Luke looked around the galley and then at Leia confusedly. "I know he's here somewhere. Probably in a bay, trying to cool off. He reacted kind of extreme."

"He feels responsible," Leia said.

"Present is he," Yoda repeated. "Knows not yet how to make of himself."

The siblings shrugged their shoulders at each other. Neither understood what Yoda was talking about.

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Han used the crow bar to wrench a crate open. The seal gave a satisfying sucking sound before he had it. He bent, grabbing the lid and frisbeeing it across the room, where it smashed into the wall. A piece of the duroplast broke off.

He stepped heavily, boots making a loud noise, and bent over the lid, his nostrils flaring.

His mind replayed the scene, Maranya's grotesque cry, her distorted features. Fresh anger coursed through him. _Simple Girl_ , Chewie called her. _More like Stupid Girl._ He brought the lid back to the crate and leaned it against it. _Can't even boil water can't even do one godsdamned thing on this ship but eat._ There was a padded blanket atop whatever was inside the crate. _Can't even fucking eat right._ He knew he shouldn't be angry with her, but he couldn't help it; he was so angry with her. A part of him knew it wasn't fair, but a bigger part of him just wanted to throw her off the ship every time he looked at her. He couldn't stand looking at her.

He tried to stop thinking about it and what made him so angry. He wasn't one much for thinking. It was better to do something, put the mind on something physical; convert that emotional energy into something useful. He turned his attention to the crate's contents.

There was extra reserve Rikothian liqueur in it. It was valuable, and would fetch a heavy price on the black market. He pursed his lips, considered a role it could play in Coruscant. The art crowd would clamor for it.

Rikothian liqueur had been banned on numerous planets more than thirty years ago, after it was discovered the alcohol contained a substance that was not only mood-altering, but brain altering. It was psychologically addicting, but caused a degeneration in the tissue of the frontal lobe after prolonged use.

Han sighed, feeling his anger leave suddenly, like a tap someone turned off. He did a circuit around the bay, hands on his hips, surveying the other crates. Then he sat down on the padded blanket.

The storm must be getting to him; all this time cooped up. If it didn't let up, if they didn't move, soon, he was going to go crazy. He hadn't flown in how long? That's all he needed. Get up there, in the black, with the stars. That's all. Flight. He'd be free.

He'd been disregarding the night cycle, preferring physical labor to sleep. He didn't want to dream. In sleep his dreams were exhausting. He might be bogged down in sand, or counting look-alike Gamorreans that left his carefully organized rows to go off and eat and then return in a different spot and he'd lose count, yelling at the idiot guards to get back in their place. In one dream Jabba made him eat the aquatic creatures and the slimy trail going down his throat was so realistic he retched upon waking.

He worked through the night cycles, only to find that sleep could not elude him completely. He fell asleep in odd places at odd times; in the cockpit, at the lounge table, in the cargo bays. Sleep never lasted long; just enough to take him back to Jabba's where he would wrench himself awake to make sure he was on the _Falcon_ ; just enough to freshen him a few more hours. A blanket often covered him, and he suspected Chewie was watching him, but they never spoke of it.

He stood before a door that whooshed open and Jabba was there on his throne. Beside him, wearing the negligent outfit of a slave, was Leia/Maranya. It looked like Leia but he knew it was Maranya. She was looking at him sorrowfully.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded of Jabba. "I thought I was done with you."

Jabba chuckled in slow amusement. "You won't be done with me for a long time, Solo my boy. We had fun, didn't we?"

"No," Han answered. "But killing you was fun."

"Solo," Jabba tsked. "I provided for you." He gestured with his little arm to Leia/Maranya. "For old times' sake, have some pleasure."

"No!" he shouted, drawing his blaster and shooting Leia/Maranya. He woke up with a gasp, found someone had put another blanket on him. He grabbed a bottle of Rikothian liqueur and smashed it against the wall.


	33. Chapter 33

Maranya's dreams were at odds with her memory. She dreamed of the life she'd known at Jabba's. It was all she knew. She thought she remembered it in great detail, as not much time had passed since she was freed. She wore little, she ate only brick-hard bread, and she was brought before guests for their sexual pleasure. Then, the world of her dreams would veer from her memory, and she would begin to squirm in her sleep.

Daily life at Jabba's involved no sensation. She woke, and she breathed. She was starving but she didn't know she was hungry. They withheld water but she had no thirst. She was beaten but she didn't feel pain. Her first day, when she was a girl of twelve sold by her father to become a sex slave, there had been tears. T'Linka, the Twi'lek cleaning slave who had tended to her, had advised her to hide the tears. T'Linka told her Jabba fed off tears and gave them to the Rancor. So Maranya had at first hid them, behind a quivering chin and a grimacing mouth, and then they had just dried up, like any water in the desert heat, never to come again. After her tears dried up the rest of her followed. She merely breathed. She woke up and breathed while anyone did anything to her until she could sleep again. Nothing could reach her. Day in and day out, the years had passed by. Even her hair stopped growing.

In her dreams, her hair was short and spiky. She could hear the grunts of Jabba's guests; their moans; she felt every bite and pull of her hair; felt her skin tear and rip to accommodate them. Her face was wet with tears. She hurt, she ached, she hungered, she was scared. T'Linka was there to tell her to stop crying and Han Solo was there to tell her to stop sexing. Maranya was brought before the Rancor to offer it its pleasure, but she never got that far because it always started to tear her limbs apart, and she would wake screaming.

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"I thought I heard something," Leia commented as she came out to the lounge. It wasn't so much noise that had awakened her as activity; someone was moving about the ship.

She had passed the captain's quarters and noticed the door was open. She glimpsed a rumpled bed, some clothes on it. So Han was one awake. By the looks of his bunk, he didn't seem to be using it much at all.

She expected to meet him somewhere as she patrolled through the ship, but came across Doc Brack and Maranya in the lounge.

Maranya looked sleepy. She was frowning and blinking in the light. Doc Brack was setting a cup of tea before her.

"She had a nightmare," Doc Brack explained. "The pain blocker wore off. I'll give her a mild tranquilizer after I settler her down a bit."

It had been several hours since Maranya had burned herself. Doc Brack had administered a sedative along with pain medication and Maranya had fallen quickly into a deep sleep. _Where's her hours count_ , Leia thought. She looked around for the flimsi Maranya used to tally how much time was passing and found it on the bench. She picked it up and passed it along the slick surface of the table to her.

Maranya looked at it, pouting. Her hands were wrapped in bacta bandages and she couldn't hold the stylus.

"I'll do it for you," Leia offered. "Tell me what to mark."

Maranya looked at the chrono. Leia could tell she was calculating in her head.

"Is it still storming?" Doc Brack asked.

Leia shrugged. "I assume so." The storm had been going on so long it seemed it would for all time.

"Six marks," Maranya directed quietly.

Leia tried to emulate Maranya's bold and impeccably straight lines, but found hers were perhaps shorter. "How are your hands feeling?" she asked Maranya.

The girl looked down at her hands, become mitts in the thick pink bandaging. She did not answer. Instead, she turned to Doc Brack.

"Can I have bread?" Maranya asked Doc Brack.

"Sure, dear," he answered, and rose to see what was left in the galley. "I'll unwrap the bandages after ten hours," Doc Brack called to Leia from the kitchen stores. "Bacta works quickly, as I'm sure you're aware. She'll feel tender, but she'll be able to use her hands come mid-day meal." He came back with an assortment. An unleavened type traditionally baked in the Tatooine sun on rocks, sweet breads, and a multisprout loaf that Leia had found most unappetizing, but which Yoda seemed to prefer. He patted her head. "Now if we can only get her to sleep better."

Maranya lifted her arms a little and then let them drop back on her lap.

"Here, let me," Leia offered. "This one?" she held up a sweet bread. Upon Maranya's nod she began to tear it up in chunks, the icing making her fingers sticky. "Do you want to dunk it in your tea, or just eat it?"

"Dunking is for Jabba's," Maranya said. "I'll just eat it."

"OK. Open up," Leia said. Maranya opened her mouth like a baby bird and Leia popped a piece in Maranya's mouth. They both laughed. Leia watched Maranya struggle to chew the stale bread. "Why is dunking for Jabba's?" Leia asked. She expected Maranya to tell her it was a form of policy; that Jabba, in his rule of terror, would inflict his desires on every facet of a slave's life.

"They gave us bread as hard as stone," Maranya said, contentedly chewing. "Had to be wet to eat."

"Oh." _Of course,_ Leia remonstrated herself. She wondered why she had to keep reminding herself of the bleak life of a slave. She hoped it was a trait of an Alderaanian, not a Princess. She'd grown up with servants in her royal household, but they had always been treated well. They ate the same as she did, only elsewhere. Somehow she didn't have it in herself to comprehend that someone would treat another as if they were an object. On Alderaan, the quality of life was an important value. Even animals raised for slaughter had a better life than Maranya had."Has your jaw been like that a long time?" Leia asked her.

Maranya considered. "Since Solo," she told Leia.

Leia was shocked by the answer. Had Han broken her jaw? Maranya was ready for another piece and Leia fed her. The girl laughed again, but Leia's answering grin was late. She was afraid to ask more about her jaw, afraid of the answer that could come.

"Here." Doc Brack placed another pill in front of her. "Take that with your tea, and then we'll be able to get you back to bed."

Leia frowned. "What is that?"

"It's a mild sedative. Just something to keep her asleep."

"You treat her just like you treated yourself," Leia said, her eyes staring off at nothing, realizing something.

"I'm sorry?" Doc Brack interjected. "The sedatives. You keep giving them to her. Making her not think. Just like your spice."

Doc Brack began to sputter. "Leia, I assure you, I have no intention -"

"Oh, I know," Leia soothed. "But I'm right, aren't I? You took it because you needed it, and you took it because you hated that you needed it."

Doc Brack seemed to sag into the seat. He didn't speak for a long moment, remembering, all too clearly, the all-consuming thought of a spice hit, the all-consuming shame of what he had caused to happen to his life. "The high was good," he told Leia, still aiming his voice at the table, "but it left. The shame was always there."

"Let her be," Leia advised. "She's seeing a new normal." She spoke now to Maranya. "You're beginning to realize how wrong it was at Jabba's. That's why you scream at night."

Maranya's eyes were as wide as saucers. "A new normal?"

"Yes. You have friends here, do you realize that? People who care about you, who want you to be safe."

Maranya listened carefully to Leia. It was different here. There was a friendly Wookiee who liked to play games with her. Yoda told her about water and they drew pictures together with the stylus. Leia had washed her hair and given her clothing. "Solo wants me to die," she said.

Both Doc Brack and Leia began to protest.

"He kept me alive," she told them. If her life was wrong, as Leia was saying, then what were her friend T'linka and Solo? Were they wrong too? "He kept me alive, and he didn't want to."

"Maranya, I'm sure -"

"Yes. I thought of killing him. So I would live."

Maranya's comments made no sense to Leia. If Han kept her alive, then how would killing him ensure her survival? So much in her statement alarmed her. This girl, this simple, dull being, had thought of taking a life? There were a thousand things Leia wanted to know, and not know, but it seemed more important to teach Maranya how to value a life. "But you didn't kill him. You did the right thing. And now you both are here."

"But he changed his mind, I think. He'd rather I am dead."

"You don't think he's going to hurt you," Doc Brack asked, just to make sure.

"He hates me." Maranya opened her mouth so Leia could pop another piece of bread in. "Do you sex him?" she asked Leia.

Leia's eyes widened and her stomach dropped.

"Maranya," Doc Brack scolded. ""We don't talk like that. Beings don't behave like that outside of Jabba's palace." He gave Leia a knowing look.

Even Doc Brack had not gone unaffected by his service to Jabba, Leia thought. "It's not something one 'does' to another. It's done together, Maranya. And," she continued after pausing to collect her thoughts. She was seeing storm troopers and she was seeing Han. "And it's never referred to as that, as sexing," Leia said softly, shuddering. "It's for when beings want to show each other their love."

"She doesn't know what love is," Doc Brack said.

"No." Leia made sure Maranya knew she was talking to her, rather than about her. "Love is very special, and it forms in lots of different ways. I love Luke, because he's my brother. I love Chewie, because he's kind and protective of us all." She wasn't going to explain to Maranya how she loved Han. Maranya was an innocent, corrupted. Doc Brack was right; she didn't know what love was. She would only begin to learn when someone loved her.

They stopped talking as Han passed through and went in the galley. Leia got up and followed him. He was washing pills down with some wine left over from the other night.

"Should you be taking those with wine?" Leia speculated. He looked at her darkly, their old argument coming between them. "Gotta keep up with my medication, remember?"

"Yes, but alcohol..."

"No water, remember?" He set the glass down on the counter and left abruptly.

She set her jaw, aggravated, and followed him to the cockpit. She watched a moment as he checked read-outs, pushed buttons. He was trying to look busy, doing nothing.

"Maranya thinks you hate her," she told him. His eyes flashed to her but he said nothing. "She thinks you want her to die."

He picked up a flimsi, flashed another silent look, and left.

 _He's running_ , she thought. She followed him to a bay. Apparently he was in the middle of reorganizing it. Crates were open, their packing quilts lying wrinkled on the floor, at least one item of the crate set before it, as if to announce its contents. She knew this bay. She had searched through it while on Dagobah, and nicknamed it the Smuggling Bay. It held valuables, things in great quantities he probably had no personal use for. Things he might resell on the black market, things just to have because the obtaining was more fun for him than the selling.

"Do you want her to die?" she questioned him.

"Of course not," he grumbled. He was leaning over a crate, counting, his fingertip touching each bottle contained within.

"Do you hate her?" He lost count. His lips pressed together in frustration and he started again.

"Do you?" _Aargh_. "Probably." _One, two, three…._

"Why?" He straightened, closing his eyes. "Princess…."

"Why, Han?" she persisted. She realized he was struggling. He looked tired. Not tired – drained. "Why did you bring her along if you hate her?" She was pushing him, she saw that. She ought to take it easier on him. He was still taking his meds; she needed to remember he was still recovering.

"I don't hate her," he contradicted himself. She scrutinized him more closely. Was it pain she read on his face? No, he was pained. There was a difference.

She relented. "What exactly are you doing in here?"

He sent his eyes around, realized how haphazard it all must appear. "Just cleaning up."

"Cleaning?" she scoffed gently. "Everything here was stacked and in brackets. It was ready for flight."

He shrugged. _How did she know that?_ "I wanted to see what was in here. Been away a long time. Just taking stock."

Leia nodded. _Taking stock_. It was a good expression. Suddenly it was evident what a mess he was. Her expression softened and she went to wrap her arms around his middle. "How does your chest feel?"

"Fine."

"Breathing better?" He took a deep breath while she leaned against him, and let it out. He looked down at her, that playful look back in his eyes. "How's that?"

She smiled. "Sounds wonderful." She was thinking of Darth Vader and the constant sound of his mechanical lungs. Han's lungs had healed on their own. He wouldn't need the constant monitoring, care, or examination that Vader's had needed the rest of his life. Han was so much stronger than Vader, in so many ways.

She placed a palm on his chest, where the blaster bolt had struck him. "Why are you doing all this reorganizing? She asked into his shirt.

"I told you," he answered. "Just taking stock. And I've been looking for something.

" She lifted her head to peer into his face. "Looking for what?"

He rumpled the hair at the back of his neck. "I had a case of – what did you bring to Jabba's, when you tried to pay him off?"

"Just the stuff you had set aside for him. Chewie knew where it was. What are you missing?"

"A case of -"

She inhaled sharply, knowing exactly what he was looking for. The final piece of her dreams. "Gems," she told him.

He stopped his lips from forming the next words and raised his eyebrows. "How did -"

"They're right there," she told him, and pointed.

He followed her finger, saw she was indicating a section of the hold he hadn't gotten to yet. There were four crates stacked on each other. Her finger was pointing somewhere in the middle. "Which one?" he asked, extracting himself from her embrace and moving to the stack.

"Second one up from the bottom," she told him.

He went to fetch a drill from the last set of brackets he had unbolted from the wall. She watched him do both sides, set the brackets gently on the floor. He lifted the top crate, and set it on the floor without using the wrench to pry off the lid. He repeated his actions on the second crate.

He got the wrench and paused a moment at the next crate. She had told him they were in this one. How she knew that was beyond him. But she was certain and he had no doubt of her. He popped the seal, and held her gaze before lifting the lid. Leia helped him remove the padded blanket.

"Puzzle gems," she stated. Her smile was so big she thought she might start crying. "They're from Alderaan."

"I know," he responded, looking at her curiously.

"I had a dream about them once," she told him. "you were pulling them out of the wall on the Death Star. You said I should use them to finance the Rebellion."

He looked stunned. "That's why I was looking for them," he admitted sheepishly. "I know you were using the credits I collected from Jabba's guests-"

 _Guests_ , she heard.

"-for your committee. "The Displaced. I thought, well." he stopped and she saw how hesitant he was to say more. "I, um..." There was so much history in his eyes. "I've been...uh...displaced before, and..."

She saw what he was, what he had been. The things she'd found when she explored the ship on Dagobah were things he'd collected, the way Maranya ate bread. Because he couldn't fill something inside him, a hole, and he was constantly in want. "For my committee," she prompted him gently.

He nodded, looking at the floor. "I'm giving it to you. My donation."

She felt a dam break. Caution, shields, barriers; all crumbled to nothing with his quiet statement. Her soul flooded with love. He knew who she was. He valued more than her person; he valued _her_. Much more so than the others had. They'd wanted a conquest. They'd wanted to win her. Their victory would be different things; her station, her body, her knowledge.

"Leia?" his finger lifted her chin. She was crying but beaming, thanking him for his gift, grateful for him.

"How did you come by them?" she asked, sniffling.

"Last year, I took you to meet that Imp defector, remember? I went to see a contact. He had these. He was gonna split them up, sell them to private collectors, jewelers."

"You got them for me?"

"Sweetheart, if I could rebuild you the planet from these, I would."

She put her face back in his shirt, because if she looked at nothing she was able to grasp the weight of his gift better. Things were a mess right now and things were complicated. She didn't want to look in his eyes and see the shadow of Jabba, or storm troopers, or Darth Vader or Maranya. She just wanted to feel his love and support and encouragement. She wanted to feel what she meant to him, and in sleep clothes, with her hair down and unkempt, she felt beautiful.

"How did you know they were there?" he asked after a moment.

"When Luke was training on Dagobah, I watched over the ship," she told him.

"Better than 3PO?" he said, and she heard a smile in his voice.

"Much," she asserted, smiling back. "The vines grew up around the outside of the ship, and I'd hack them back every day."

Han rubbed her back, looking over her head which tucked into his chest. It was a touching image, Leia taking care to keep the jungle away from his ship.

"I was trying to find you," Leia continued softly. "I missed you. No one seemed to understand. Except for the _Falcon_. She gave me pieces of you. Logs, and notes, and cargo. It was all she could offer, but it was more than anyone else could."

Now she moved to look into his eyes, to make sure he understood what she was telling him. She told him with tears in her eyes but a smirk on her lips, "I know every inch of this ship, Han Solo."

Her words thundered through his core. It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to him.

"Leia," he whispered hoarsely. He burrowed his head in her neck and she could feel his body shaking. He held her tightly, with a desperate gratitude.

They stood in the middle of the bay, contraband all around them. They sought to memorize each other, because for the briefest moment, things were clear and pure, like the tears in each other's eyes.

 


	34. Chapter 34

The sand, his bed for so long, felt hard, like durocrete. And Maranya, snuggled against him for warmth, felt soft. Han kept his eyes closed, waiting. Any minute now….

She felt soft, the sand hard. It felt different than what he was used to. But he needed to decide. What was he going to do? Any minute now.

He waited, eyes closed. It would be Gamorreans, with axes, and Doc Brack. One would die, either him or her. And the way he reacted, what he did, would decide it. If he stood up, if he fought, it might be him. He was used to fighting. But today somehow was the last day. There would be no more chances after today. No more fighting. It was the end.

Or he could just lie there, let them take her. He'd fought for her too. He needed to choose. It was up to him. The deadline had arrived. No more of this crazy sad awful situation.

He felt the weight of his decision. Whichever one it would be, he felt a sadness, a regret. He wasn't used to that. His brow knit, concentrating on that feeling. Him or her, neither the right decision. In the cell, there was a resigned air of remorse and expectation. Life in the cell was going to change. One would leave. In the pure blackness the marks of her wall were revealed to him, as if in a spotlight. They highlighted the time spent; they highlighted time coming to an end. It lent a poignancy to the coming event, a solemnity that Jabba didn't usually effect.. Maranya lay awake, awaiting his decision. But she didn't ask. She would accept whatever he decided. Neither had much ahead of them, just life.

Him or her. Either one was fine with him. Any minute now…

Something was outside the door. They were quieter than usual, mindful of the tragic atmosphere. Subdued, not violent. Deadly, but not violent.

Contentment sighed next to him. Han listened again. Definitely contentment. He opened his eyes.

Leia sighed contentedly against him. Han blinked rapidly, making sure he was awake. They were on the floor of what she called the Smuggling Bay, nestled in the padded quilts.

He blinked again. So that's why the sand had been so hard. And it had been Leia that was so soft, not… He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling inexplicably close to tears.

He kept his eyes shut and brought Leia closer to him, let out a shaky breath into her hair. _Gods_. She loved his ship, and by extent was telling him she loved him too. All the things she knew about the _Falcon_ , the ways parts could just shut down, and she loved her anyway. But she didn't know everything about him. The _Falcon_ was an object, easy to love. Easy to fix when she shut down. Not so him.

He squeezed his eyes tighter, to prevent them watering, but a tear leaked out anyway. He wasn't crying. He wasn't, was he? He never cried. He had stopped, long ago. Learned, long ago, tears never helped. She shouldn't love him. He didn't know why she did.

But he loved her and he knew why he loved her. He allowed himself to look at her. Wisps of her brown hair floated in and around her face, moving with their breathing. Her skin was creamy and pale, highlighting her dark eyelashes. Her eyes were asleep, but he had seen into them. Large, the whites gleaming like stars; the pupils dark as space. The brown of her eyes was the lost light of Alderaan lit from light years away; in them he saw the state of the galaxy before the war and how she envisioned it after. He loved her for the all-encompassing strength and vision her personal pain brought her.

And yet she came down from the stars and wanted him. If she had chosen someone else, he would have shrugged in his cynical nature and thought _there's no accounting for taste._ But he wouldn't demean her; he couldn't do that to her. She had chosen him; maybe there was something worthwhile in him he didn't know about.

He wondered about his dream, which decision she would love him for. Awake, he had no idea what he would have done in the dream. He was curious to see how it would have ended, but it was gone now.

He was completely awake, the clouded atmosphere of his dream dissipated, and he felt a gnawing concern for the storm. Carefully he piled up the blanket covering him on her front, so she would sense his body warmth and not be disturbed, and quietly left the bay.

His movements almost woke Leia, but not quite. She was dreaming, too, but of snow. She was wearing the regulation Rebel quilted snow suit, and she was on Hoth. A battle was raging, and she and Han were racing down a corridor. Flakes of snow drifted lazily around them, and sometimes chunks of the ceiling. Darth Vader was destroying the base and they could only run forward, because behind them was in ruins. They turned a corner, and Darth Vader stood before them, his arm held out to clutch Han with the Force. She threw her body on top of Han, certain beyond all doubt she could protect him.

She rolled her body atop Han, but awoke when instead she felt hard floor. He wasn't there. Leia lifted her head, and patted the blankets around. She was alone.

There was no hurry to waken. It would be another meal of stale food, another hour of storm outside, more dread contemplating her leave of Tatooine and her arrival at Sullust.

She preferred to languish on the blankets, still warm from Han's presence, and enjoy a nice memory, one of the few from this storm.

She still felt surrounded by love. That's what would protect Han in her dream. It's what _had_ protected Han here on Tatooine.

She looked around the blankets again and saw a puzzle gem above her head, where she'd placed it before falling asleep. Their night together had been chaste. It had been more about soul searching than love making.

He had moved her last night. She had told Maranya love formed many ways, and she hadn't lied. But she had never known love like this. The look in his eyes, the feel of his body. Thinking of it made her bite her lip. Oh yes, she was ready for this kind of love.

She reflected on his gift last night. It had not been difficult for him to give her the puzzle gems. He'd even revealed something of himself to her, and that was lovely all by itself. He'd had them a year, and he had collected them, not so much for her, but because of her. They had been hers the moment they took their place in his cargo hold, and there they had waited. He would never have sold them, gotten rid of them, no matter what happened between them. They weren't hers, they were her. Like her, they were from Alderaan, and had been set adrift in space by the planet's destruction, and they were passed from hand to hand, and there was no one to really understand their value. Until Han found them, found her. They were beautiful; dark and luminous, and small, just like he made her feel.

And she had moved him. His kisses had been slow, intense. He wanted, needed her love. As she likened herself to the puzzle gems, she related him to the _Falcon._ Too often they were treated with indifference or scorn, the rough exterior distracting from the treasure within.

 _Buried treasure_ , she smiled to herself. The _Falcon_ was literally buried treasure, covered by days of blowing sand. Gradually, reality wormed its way into the forefront of her thoughts. She should get up, do some work. Write reports, check seals, discuss something that bothered her with Luke. She sat up, removing blankets from her lap. Gods, her hair was a mess.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx .

Han paused outside the engineering bay. Luke and Yoda were in there, doing some sort of exercise. Luke stood in the middle of the room, his lightsaber resting idle in his hand, relaxed against his leg, eyes closed.

"Hi, Han," Luke said, his eyes still closed.

"Hey," Han grunted back unenthusiastically. "Showin' off?" Long ago, he had scoffed when Ben Kenobi talked about the Force. He couldn't deny it now, and he was glad no one pressed him on the issue, but it took some getting used to.

Luke grinned. "No. I recognized the sound your boots make."

Han smiled. Luke might be strong in the Force now, but he was still Luke. "Am I in the way?" he asked. "I want to check the radar."

"For the thousandth time," Luke said.

"Storm's gotta end at some point, right? We can't hear or see anything from in here; that's why I check."

"Present, you may be," Yoda told Han.

"I know I may be," Han answered sarcastically. He wondered if Luke could read his eye roll. "It's my ship."

Suddenly the remote Han used for target and speed draw practice attacked, and Han watched as Luke sprang into action. He whirled, his lightsaber igniting to blue at the same time, and sent the shot from the remote back into it. It's sensory light dimmed a moment, and then it veered its direction, hovering in the air before diving and circling, letting off three shots in rapid succession. Luke squatted, deflected, spun, and somehow wound up behind the remote, which he switched off smugly.

"You're a lot better against that thing than the last time I saw you use it," Han cheered.

"Against a remote is one thing," Yoda said darkly. "Better must he be against the Emperor."

"I can reset it," Han offered. He rapped a knuckle on the radar. "Gear it up a notch." The familiar black of the dead radar screen appeared and Han made a face. He knew that if he counted to three the screen would read 'no data'. _One, two three...Four.._."Hey," he said. He took a seat.

"What is it?" Luke asked from his place in the center of the floor, eyes closed, waiting.

"It's ….the radar." Han spoke slowly. "It's not completely dead."

"What does that mean?"

"It's...I don't know. There's no data, but it's not saying, 'no data.'"

"Maybe it's officially broken." Han shot Luke a deadly glance. "Shut up." He rapped his knuckle on it again.

"Hitting it isn't going to help, Han."

"Ho," Han exclaimed. He let out a stream of curse words.

"What's the matter?" Luke decided to come see what Han was looking at. He peered over his friend's shoulder. "Rapping on it worked?"

Han's face was intent on the radar, a crooked grin beginning to form. "I'm so happy I could start cursing -"

Luke and Yoda commented at the same time: "Done that already, have you." "I'd say you're happy."

"-it's back! Radar's back online." The evidence was right there in front of him, but he still had trouble grasping it. "Chewie!" he bellowed. "Warm her up!"

"It's north and east of us," Luke determined. "Just." He whistled. "Look at the size of it."

Han continued cursing, happily bringing up port communications and the holoweb. "We're clear," he said, almost in disbelief.

"What is it?" Doc Brack came running into the room.

"It's over," Luke declared. "The storm finally passed over us." He heard Chewie yell something from the cockpit, but didn't catch it.

Han ran past them, shouting orders to Chewie, and the others followed. Underneath their feet the engines flared to life.

Leia, sitting in the lounge with Maranya, watched Han dash by, followed by Doc Brack, Luke and Yoda. "What's going on?" she asked. Both women got up to follow the others into the cockpit.

"We've got clear skies," Luke told her.

"I almost don't believe it," Leia said, a sense of wonder coming over her. While a part of her had longed for an end to the storm, another had found solace in the idleness it enforced. "But – Han – What are you doing? You're going to take off?" Leia exclaimed. "Now?"

"Dear me," C-3PO uttered. "How can we lift off when we aren't even out of the sand?"

"Give it a minute," Han advised.

They all crowded in the cockpit. Han and Chewie were in their respective seats. Maranya took the navigator's seat, but the others stood shoulder to shoulder, seeing nothing but sand out the cockpit window but feeling strong vibrations of the engines in the soles of their boots.

"What's going to happen?" Doc Brack asked. "Shouldn't you be able to see when you are flying?"

Chewie chortled. "This isn't flying," he rumbled in Shyriiwook. "It's sweeping."

"First Mate Chewbacca assures us he and Captain Solo are sweeping," C-3PO told the puzzled medic and Maranya.

Doc Brack's mouthed silently, "Sweeping?"

"I do not comprehend it either," the droid admitted.

"There," Han pointed. He sounded satisfied.

"A crack!" Maranya exclaimed.

A fissure of sand had opened in the lower corner of the window. Imperceptibly it crawled in a jagged line across the view port.

"Whatever can it mean?" C-3PO wondered.

"You're shaking the sand off," Luke realized. "Using the vibrations of the engines."

"It's getting wider," Leia observed.

"Soon the sky we will view," Yoda muttered.

"Give it a little more power, Chewie," Han suggested. "No lift."

They heard the engine increase its reverberations and all of a sudden a chunk of sand, pressurized into a compact block on the window during the storm, gave a loud crack and dissolved into nothing.

"Whoa," Luke said. "Did you see how thick that was?"

"We can't just take off, can we?" Leia asked. "There might be damage."

Han nodded. "Likely to be. Somethings probably snapped under the weight of all that sand." His glance took in the small crowd watching the cockpit window gradually reveal itself. "I'll need all hands. This is your captain speaking," he told them with a smile. "And no complaining." His finger was leveled at C-3PO.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The mood shifted. They had been living on borrowed time and thinning patience. Now, as they stepped back outside into the desert expanse, they breathed fresh air.

Luke walked through the ship. It wasn't really like a ship right now, he reflected. She started out as shelter for them from the storm. But as the storm raged on and they felt safe and comfortable within, she became a home. Seven beings and a droid occupied her, and signs of them lay scattered throughout. Dishes were on the counter of the galley, some not yet washed. Flimsis, cards, and data boards were scattered on the lounge table and other places a being could sit and read. Storage lockers were unsecured, a box of crackers were on the berth Luke used to sleep. It was warm, almost folksy inside, Luke thought. He'd like to have a holo of it, freeze the moment; remember when everyone had learned to relax, to let go just a bit. Leia's hair accessories were in the engineering bay, Doc Brack's notations for the latest news in medical research were piled tidily on the floor, Maranya's latest chess game froze in place, paused for the moment. They would have to stow everything before take off, secure it. The _Falcon_ would go back to being a freighter, carrying passengers from one place to another, just a way to get from point A to point B. _Transition,_ he told himself. _We're still on a journey_.

It had been good to return here, overall. They had Han back. Luke thought of Vader, of everything the journey so far had taught him.

"Say goodbye to your home world, kid," Han told him. "We're initiating pre-flight soon as the seals are dry."

Luke nodded. _Say goodbye_...did Han think Luke might never return?

He stepped down the hatch, scanning the horizon for the last time. He squatted, grabbed a fistful of sand, and sifted it into a jar. Then he activated the wrap film and put the jar in his pocket.

 _I'm taking a bit with me_ , he told the desert. _And I want you to have something to remember me by, too._ Luke got down on his knees and scooped more sand out of the way. He reached his hand into a satchel and carefully placed an object in the hole he'd dug. _This was my father's_. He smothered Darth Vader's lightsaber hilt with sand. _May you not forget the Skywalkers of Tatooine_.

 


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I made a goof! I forgot this chapter. It is earlier in the story. You haven't missed much, but I like to include it anyway.

Maranya watched as the yellow planet of Tatooine fell away into a smaller and smaller ball.

"Have you ever flown before?" Luke asked her with a gentle smile. Speechless, she shook her head no. Luke nodded, remembering. "My first time off planet happened in this ship, too." he looked out the view port, and was gratified that he still found it amazing and beautiful, even after countless liftoffs. He remembered trying to hide his inexperience in front of an honestly jaded Han, and failing. "Just wait until he puts us in hyperspace."

"Where did you go?" Maranya asked.

Luke blinked. It was a good question. It indicated she saw possibility, potential, a future. "I didn't go where I meant to," he responded honestly. "I took quite the detour." He smiled, looking at C-3PO, and Leia, and Han. "My first landing was at a place where it rained."

"Rained?"

"Yes, it watered. All the time, it seemed. It was amazing to me, so different from Tatooine."

"How long is this flight?" Doc Brack asked.

"Not long," Han answered. "Sullust is fairly close, considering we're in the Outer Rim. Eighteen hours. I'm going to run her on sublights for a bit, just to make sure our repairs held. Don't want anything busting open in hyper. You'll be able to see Tatooine for a while."

"Looks harmless from here, doesn't it?" Doc Brack commented.

"Detest this planet, I do," Yoda said. "Pay to leave I would."

Han opened his mouth to speak and Luke noted the mischief on his face. "You're not charging passage, Han."

Yoda pointed his stick at Han. "Avail yourself, you should not, on another's misfortune. Begins a civilization's downfall, greed does."

"I don't know about that," Han argued. "I can probably come up with an example how a leader's greed helped his economy."

"It's power," Luke put in. "Power is greed but greed isn't power." Leia listened as Luke and Han debated with Yoda.

This was her element, the concept of power wrapped in wealth and territory, but she did not contribute. It was the basis for politics, really, and as the three males went round and round the issues she had listened to countless times on the Senate floor, she looked down at Tatooine, quickly becoming a speck.

Space gave one a different perspective. For some reason Obi Wan Kenobi sprang to mind. Maybe it had been his long-ago comment about death changing one's perspective. Kenobi had left the infinity of space to confine himself to Tatooine, keeping watch over Luke. His world had narrowed remarkably, Leia thought. It must have been difficult.

Tatooine had been harsh and relentless and held them in its grip, yet now it appeared harmless and almost meek, compared to the size of the suns that dominated it. She flashed back, remembering being on the bridge of the Death Star, when Alderaan had looked similar, only bluer, but just as innocent. It can happen again, she realized.Her own experiences on Tatooine had impacted her greatly. She would not arrive on Sullust the same person she had been. She would have a brother, a mentor, friends, someone she loved. She looked around at everyone, her gaze settling fondly on Chewie's calm countenance, quiet and listening like she was.

They had become a family, she realized. This motley group of life forms and even more diverse life experiences had molded together to become a unit. Each had seen a great deal of change in the last few days. Doc Brack was recovering from drug addiction; Maranya from slavery. Both would forge completely different and new lives when they left here. Leia wondered what was in store for them. She turned to an Alderaanian prayer, something she hadn't done in a while, and wished them well. She probably wouldn't see them much after arrival. _Unless_ , she thought wryly, _Han or Luke wind up in the medcenter like they frequently do._

The pair were off to Coruscant, along with Yoda and Chewie. She didn't want them to go. She stared at Luke, trying to get a sense of his destiny. Would he survive this? Did she see him past this? Did he have a role post-war? Yoda's sense washed over her, full of sorrow, as it always was. And Han – all she sensed still was just his presence, strong and vital. She hadn't been able to sense if he would live or die when he'd been shot, so maybe that aspect of the Force was beyond her.

They were still arguing. Leia marveled at how their own life experiences formed the basis of their arguments. Luke pointed to nature and environment and how that shaped civilizations. Natural disasters, he asserted, can cause more death and breakdown of society than a war.

Han brought up culture clash and xenophobia, which Leia found interesting. She wondered if it stemmed from his time in the Imperial Navy, observing the dismissive attitudes of humans towards Wookiees, or if it was something that had happened to him earlier.

Yoda dwelt on Palpatine and his clandestine plans to manipulate the Galaxy.

She thought fondly, _they'll never get it_. "It's not that simple, gentle beings; you're oversimplifying the issues. They're not black and white at all," she said in her strong Senator voice. "I have an example for you that shows why it can never be settled: What about the being that deceives himself? Believes the quest for power and wealth is for the greater good? There are planetary systems that are droid-ruled, or some that have at least one serving in a high position of power, in an attempt to hold personal desires at bay."

"Princess Leia is quite correct," C-3PO horned in. "I have often thought myself that a droid's programming is an excellent substitution for the erratic psychological fluctuations of a being."

"Yeah, but, you're not infallible, 3PO," Luke pointed out. "You serve me. What if I decide joining the Emperor is the best path? Would you like that?"

"Well, Master Luke," C-3PO's head was at an angle while he processed information. "It is not a matter of what I like or dislike. However, given the present situation, and what I know of you, I should think it would come as a surprise."

"That'd be an erratic fluctuation, alright," Han commented.

Luke nodded. "But you'd have to go along with it."

"Security issues, pose a droid," Yoda added. "Merely technology, you are. Easily tampered with."

The droid bowed his head. "That is correct, Master Yoda."

"And droids aren't flexible," Han said. "Say you rule a planet, all systems in place, everything running fine. And then one of Luke's natural disasters take place. Something unexpected, like a meteorite. Droids don't have it in their programming to adapt. None of those," he broke into an imitation of the droid's fussy style of speaking, "'erratic psychological fluctuations'," he finished.

"I see there is no simple answer," C-3PO said.

"There isn't," Leia nodded. "That's why the Empire is so wrong." She meant it, but she also saw she would never be able to make right. There would always be war, there would always be evil. "I entered politics to make a difference," she mused. "Whole peace can never be won, can it?" She looked at Yoda.

"Too many erratic fluctuations?" Luke joked.

"You say the Sith Lord has caused an imbalance in the Force," Leia said, speaking to Yoda. "So even a good one will cause an imbalance, and peace can't be won wholly, isn't that so?"

Yoda nodded at her. "Balance must be restored."

"Which is why we're at war," Luke said.

"Not a typical being, the Emperor is," Yoda said. Leia cocked her head at him. "And yet, you are going to face him and try to strip him of power. He'll dig his claws in even tighter."

"More than weapons and war needed to stop him there is."

"I just don't see that you've put enough thought into this," Leia finally confessed her anxiety aloud. "Come and discuss it in Council."

"No." Yoda was firm. "Unknowns are we. Luke and I. Know he does, what Council plans. Broadcast it is, in the Force."

Han crossed his arms and looked dubious. Luke's shrug told Han _it's possible_. There had been double agents before. Perhaps the Emperor also learned things through Force meditations.

"And you," Leia switched gears, turning to Han. "You're taking the _Falcon_ down to Imperial City."

"That's where the Emperor is, Sweetheart," Han answered. "What's your point?"

"She's the second-most famous prisoner of the Death Star," Leia said.

"Next to you, you mean," Luke said in wonder. "I hadn't thought of it like that."

"While you two were gallivanting all over the Death Star, the Imperials were going over her with a fine toothed comb. They even have all your false IDs probably. You won't have any place to hide," she said urgently. If you let Council sanction it -"

"Leia, Rieekan said flat out they wouldn't," Luke interrupted. "And Han's working on forging new docs."

"They will if I vouch for you," she insisted. "If you let them, you can fly another ship in - "

"What if I don't want to?" Han said. "Look, Sweetheart, we'll be fine." Leia looked skeptical. "We will," he pressed. "Yoda knows Coruscant - "

"Knew."

"- And I know Coruscant -"

"Knew."

"We'll be fine,"he concluded.

"That's a weak argument," she shot at him. Leia looked at the three. She saw she would be unable to convince them. She sighed, wishing she, they, had a better idea what they were headed into. "Master Yoda, has the Force shown you anything of what will happen?"

Yoda shook his head. "Because," Leia plodded on, undeterred, "you've seen things before. About Vader and Han, and Luke and me."

"Meditated on this, have I not," Yoda stated.

Luke was surprised at this. "Why not?" he asked.

"In the past, if see something I did, let it happen I did. No move to change did I make. Thought I, the Force makes us. Learn from you, Skywalker," Yoda poked Luke on the knee with his walking stick, "wait, I should not. Watch, I should not." His gaze took in all of his audience. "Matters not, what the future shows. The same as fearing it, is to wait. Matters most, what is done."

"The present," Luke summarized. _Present is he_. Yoda had used that same word several times in the past day. Present. Luke looked at Han, then back at Yoda.

Leia was not used to losing arguments. She bore holes into the three with her eyes while they looked back at her innocently. She pressed her lips together tightly, then released them to speak. "I'm not happy about this," she confessed.

"You're just worried," Luke assured her. He kissed her on the forehead. "And you're not used to being out of the action."

"You're fluctuating erratically," Han said, and he and Luke laughed.

 _Maybe I am_ , Leia thought. Yoda was staring at her. Leia's head was buzzing, like something was trying to tell her something but she had too many distractions

. Luke put his chin in his hand, appraising Leia frankly."Hey, Leia," he said, "do you remember that day on Dagobah, when I figured out where Han was?" Han looked up with interest. Leia nodded. "I knew everything was going to change, and we sat together. Remember? Let's do it again. We're at that point once more. Everything's about to change."

Leia had been nervous the first time she meditated with Luke and she found herself nervous again. _You feel fear_ , her heart told her. _You're afraid_ , her head mentioned. For once, the two agreed with each other. Yoda said waiting was tantamount to fear. She had conquered her fear then, and she was still here. _It'll be alright,_ she soothed herself. "Okay," she told Luke.

"We'll be back," Luke said. He took Leia's hand and they disappeared down the corridor to the crew quarters.

"Knows storms, does Luke," Yoda murmured to Han.

Han watched them go, a slight frown on his face. "He's the one who figured it out?" He hadn't asked, but just assumed it had been Chewie.

"Connected to you, feels he. Friends are you."

"Yeah, we're friends." Han rose. His goal was to avoid a meaningful conversation with Yoda. He hadn't had many interactions alone with him. They both seemed to have little use for each other. He strode across the room, intending to fetch the pressure gauge. But he stopped a few steps away from the door and admitted quietly "I like talking to Luke."

It was true. Luke had been a calming influence, but Han knew he wasn't the only one who had sought Luke's company during the storm. Luke was the only one who reacted well. He demonstrated a respect for the desert, a patience to let it have its say. While the sands blew Luke meditated, played cards, chatted, read, practiced lightsaber techniques. He did many activities while most of the others did one thing. Maranya played chess. Leia wrote reports. Doc Brack read up on current medical practices. Han cleaned the bays. And when they needed a break they did not find something else to do; they snapped at each other instead.

"Apologize, should I," Yoda said unexpectedly.

Han's brows rose and he turned around to face the Jedi Master. "For what?"

Yoda grasped his stick with both hands and stared at the floor. "From your friends meant to keep you I did." He saw Han had no comment and continued, "Die would I let you, without knowing friends you have."

"We all have something we're sorry for," Han said, trying to bring the conversation to an end.

"All life is in the Force. A part of the Force is death. Grieve we should not. Yet grieve, have I, these past twenty years."

Han waited, his hand twitching a bit. "For what Vader did?" he asked politely. He had only been a boy, but he'd heard about the destruction of the Jedi Temple and the end of the Order. It seemed to be on Yoda's mind a lot. Han had seen the flimsi where he'd drawn it for Maranya lying on the table.

Yoda nodded. "The living grieve. If not acted had Luke, only grief would he and Leia have. And glad I am, with Skywalker you'll be."

 _Finally_ , Han breathed. A sentence he understood. "I don't know how much help I'll be, seeing as you're up against a Sith Lord, but, I'm glad to be along too."

"Mmm," commented Yoda. "Knows storms does Luke."

A _nd we're back to the beginning_ , Han said to himself wryly. He made his escape, calling out as he left, "Can't keep the Emperor waiting. I'm gonna check the seal repair."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Coordinates have been set," Chewie told Han. He looked at his friend and partner. "She's ready for you."

Han nodded slowly, solemnly. Chewie saw the moment was not lost on him. It had been months since Han had flown the _Falcon_. Chewie didn't know if Han had been through the logs, but he must know by now they'd had a lengthy stay on Dagobah before coming to Tatooine. His beloved ship had still cruised the stars without him while he kept himself bound to a planet. And not bound to just any earth, but sand; a substance so shifting and unstable it was possible to be lost forever.

Han waggled his brows once at Chewie and placed his hand on the lever, his expression expectant.

"I used to wonder, Han, why you freed me," Chewie said.

Han placed his hand resignedly in his lap. "Are you making a speech?" Han asked.

Chewie smiled and nodded his head in acknowledgment. "Yes, I am. I have assumed the duties of captain while you were gone, and now I return the mantle to you. Gladly. Don't touch the lever yet. I am not finished."

Han pretended to slump at the edge of the console. "Get on with it," he said, but he was grinning. Chewie had behaved similarly when he declared the Life Debt. Han was used to his partner. Wookiee culture was expansive, and complex. Important events, such as alliances, whether between two tribes or between two Wookiees, were often heralded with thoughtful words before a celebration. "I could think of several reasons why you took me from bondage, but I was never certain."

"I wasn't either, sometimes," Han admitted.

"Now I know."

"I figured it out, too."

"You saw I had nothing, and you thought to share."

"You make it sound so simple."

"Am I right?"

"Something like that. Can I put her in light speed now?"

"She's all yours, Captain."

Han double checked the coordinates, just to make sure, and because he was captain, and then he pulled the lever down. _Fly for me, baby_. The stars blurred as the ship's energy engaged, and then the _Millennium Falcon_ entered hyperspace. Han spread his arms wide along the console and lay his cheek on the edge of it in a sprawling hug.

Chewie rubbed Han's back in affection. "I'll leave you two alone."

"Shut up," Han called to his departing back, his cheek still lying on the console. He raised his head, his eyes gleaming to the cockpit window. Tatooine had disappeared and he let out a relieved sigh. He'd always found flight invigorating and uplifting; confidence soaring through his veins as the _Falcon_ responded to his commands. But right now he felt like a fledgling, testing his wings. "Sullust, here we come."


	36. Chapter 36

Luke felt Leia's resistance, like she was anchoring herself somewhere and refusing to move. She sat on the bunk in her cabin, her body held tightly. He'd felt her meditating on her own before; knew she was open to it, even welcomed it. What had caused the change? Her anxiety radiated off her like heat on skin from the Tatooine suns.

"Come on," he encouraged her. "It will help you think."

 _Clouded head, brilliant heart._ Yoda had said that exact phrase to her not long ago. "Maybe that's just it. I've been thinking too much," Leia said.

"Well." Luke wasn't sure how to proceed. He didn't want to force her into doing something she was reluctant to. "Tell me what you've been thinking. Is it Coruscant?"

It was. "Yes..." That, and Sullust. _He's leaving you. You'll be alone._

He smiled gently at her. "Let's try. You can just follow along on my meditations, if you like. Maybe at least ease your mind about Coruscant."

She nodded curtly. Emboldened, Luke directed her to lie on the floor of her cabin. "Take a deep breath," he instructed.

Leia did as she was told, feeling air fill her belly. She held it a moment, hearing her pulse in her ear. Then she let it leak out of her body, slowly. Both Luke's and her exhales made a noisy rasp. _Vader_.

He was thinking it, too, their healthy inhales reminding them of the noise of their father's respirator.

Luke's thoughts wandered from his father to Ben and his Uncle Owen, the two men who were more like fathers than his own had been. He saw his family and his home, and felt Leia beside him. Always sensitive to his moods, her presence was consoling, comforting. He crawled his fingertips to barely touch hers.

 _Share with me yours,_ he asked.

Leia squeezed her eyes tightly closed. _He's your brother_ , she reminded herself. _He's leaving, but he's your brother_.

On his back, face to the ceiling, and eyes closed, Luke smiled slightly. Leia began to express herself in a charming story.

She was a child. _I'm Leilei_ , she informed Luke. The little girl ran along a landscape that was both manicured and wild. Leilei dashed to a water feature and dipped her hands in to throw water in Luke's direction. Laughing, she sprinted away again, and Luke followed. Leilei ran atop a stone wall. She was sure-footed and fleet. She ran, thrilling at how her speed billowed her skirt and moved her hair. Luke understood; it was how he felt racing his Skyhopper in the canyons.

They enjoyed the outdoors together for a time until eventually the stone wall came to a juncture and Leilei stopped. She faced the corner and she and Luke looked out at the vista. Luke thought if this was truly Leia's home than it was no wonder she missed it so. It was the most beautiful place he had ever seen, and he had traveled fairly extensively since joining the Rebellion. Before them spread a green meadow, undulating gently in small rises dotted with wild flowers. The meadow coursed along until it met a mature forest. Tall, wide trees stretched to a blue sky. Luke could see water in the distance; he thought perhaps a large lake. Leilei turned from her position atop the wall and showed Luke her home.

It was a palace; there was no doubt of its purpose. The architecture was grand and sweeping. There were high, arched windows, curved walls, and roofs that narrowed into graceful spires. The elaborate features identified a palace but the fluttering curtains in the windows revealed a home, smooth and comfortable, despite the size. Leilei stared at her home, and Luke felt her heart grow heavy with melancholy. The longer they stared at it the more bereft and despairing she became.

Luke looked at Leia in surprise, but she merely looked like Leia. He'd had no idea of the extent of her isolation before. Now, in taking in the view of her childhood home, her loneliness was laid bare before him.

Leilei ran away, towards the palace. Luke followed her through an entrance set in a side wall, through a handsomely carved door elegant in paned glass. Inside the ceilings were impossibly high and the walls were papered in a rich burgundy. The many windows, tall and glowing with sunshine, made the room warm and comforting. A woman sat in a chair in the room. At her feet was a basket, filled with glossy fiber. She held a piece of fabric and was stitching with a slender golden needle.

Leilei ran to the lap of her mother, burying her face in the folds of the skirt.

"Leilei, whatever is it?" her mother asked in loving concern.

Leilei raised her face. Her eyes were swollen from crying, her voice all nasal. She was desolate, alone, so lonely. "Mama," the little girl cried.

"You've been crying," her mother observed gently, cupping her palm with the utmost tenderness along her cheek.

"I'm so sad, Mama," the little girl said. "I can't stop crying. You'll be gone, Mama, you'll be gone and I'll be alone."

"Hush, Sweetheart," her mother said. "I'm right here; you'll always have me." They hugged, and as they hugged the mother began to fade. Little Leilei clutched at her mother's figure, wailing and crying for her to stay, but soon nothing was left of the room; not her mother or her needlework.

The scene changed. Leilei was grown; she was Leia. She was on the Death Star, working side by side with stormtroopers. She wore the quilted Rebel snow uniform of Hoth but since it was white the storm troopers accepted her as one of their own. The crew were working to build the unfinished weapons station. They were to mortar blocks of durocrete to each other and finish a wall.

The wall was gray and smooth, impersonal and cold. It was about thigh high. She worked hard, persistently.

An Imperial Captain came along, and Luke recognized Han. He took a durocrete block out of Leia's hands.

"No, no, Princess," he told her. "You can't put that there."

"But Captain," crew member Leia protested, "That's where it goes. It's to build the wall."

"Nope," Imperial Captain Han casually denied her. "Time to stop building the wall. The Rebels have broken through."

Han was very unlike an officer. When a trooper wasn't looking, he would remove a block. Soon he had his own stockpile. He did his best to hinder the process. Leia began to yell at him.

Then Luke saw himself. He was walking down the corridor, in the company of the Emperor. "Hi, Leia," he greeted her.

"What are you doing?" she demanded to know.

"The Emperor and I are strolling. We're friends now. He's telling me about building this station," Luke explained.

"No," Leia shook her head at him. He could feel how horrified she was. "Captain," she demanded of Han, "it's the Emperor!"

"You're right," Han said, and threw a duroblock at him. The Emperor raised his hand, almost leisurely, and electricity arched out of it and threw Han backwards. His body left the Death Star and Leia could see him floating out in space. "He was your Captain," she shouted to Luke, her voice so loud it almost couldn't be heard.

That was enough for Luke. He grabbed her fingers and squeezed her hand. "Leia, stop."

She was breathing hard, trying not to cry.

"Leia," he called, sitting up and pulling her to him. He cupped his palm along her cheek, borrowing what her mother had done. "Don't, don't."

"I wish you hadn't seen that," she said. "You're so alone, I feel it," he soothed. "I'm so sorry. Shh, Leia, shh. But we're not going to leave you, Han or I. We're not." He wondered what kind of cad he'd been never to sense her isolation before.

"You are," she argued. "I'll be here, and you'll be there, getting yourselves killed."

Luke closed his eyes. He wanted to answer her, to reassure her, but she was right; they could get killed. They were going after the Emperor. There was no saying how this would turn out.

He thought about the scene she had revealed. Why was she working on the Death Star? It was the place that brought her all this despair and loneliness. Why was she helping to fortify it? And Han – here Luke could grin because he frustrated her as much whether they were Imperials or Rebels – Han wouldn't let her build the wall. "Don't be afraid, Leia."

"But I am. I am. I just got you, and now I can lose you all over again. I don't think I can do it again."

"You can," he said softly. She leveled her face with his, looking at him in curious betrayal.

"You had such a shock," he said. He repeated it, to let her know how big it was, and that he understood. "Such a shock. And you shut down. Kind of like Maranya I guess. This wall went up, to protect you."

Leia screwed her face up in distaste. "Like Maranya?" she questioned dubiously.

"Well, I just mean, it's hard to handle that heartbreak. You've been trying to protect yourself. But it happened when you were alone. Han and I missed you by _that_ much," he pinched his forefingers together with a wry, sad smile. "You see why that wall won't go back up."

"You mean because I have you two. But I might lose you," she repeated. "It's almost easier to have a wall."

"That isn't living, though," Luke said. "It's living safely." There was a hint of a smile on Leia's lips. Her words came back at her, the argument weak and silly, really. To have the wall, and feel nothing, or to have Luke and Han, even a memory of them.

"You can't live flat," Luke said. He frowned, wondering if there was a better word to express what he meant. He wished C-3PO were in the room. "Flat," he repeated. He decided it wasn't a bad choice. "When you're at peace, then you know joy with sadness. The extreme emotions, the ones that really hurt, they can't maintain themselves. They fizzle out. Then they leave something a little more gentle."

"What would help is if you tell me you both won't get killed."

"Yeah." Luke smiled. "We can't know. But we can't not do anything just because we don't know, because we're afraid of what can happen. That puts us back at the beginning, with Yoda and Anakin."

"We can just fight the war like we've been doing," Leia offered, hearing again how weak her suggestions were.

"It'll go on forever like that. And we could still die. You wouldn't be protecting anyone but yourself." Luke sighed. He felt Leia nod against him. "I, for one, am glad to see you start feeling again. I guess I have to give Han credit for it, for you starting to take the wall down. I'd like to think I had something to do with it, though," he hinted.

Leia sniffed. "You're my brother." She thought about what Luke had said. "He's got more walls than I do, and he's taking mine down?" she said wryly.

"It is ironic. Maybe you're taking some of his down."

"I don't know," Leia mused. "I think he has some new ones."

"You mean since Jabba's?" Leia sighed.

"Yes."

"Hang in there," Luke encouraged. "One way or the other, it'll iron itself out."

That wasn't really the answer Leia wanted. None of this was.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The cockpit was once again crowded. Doc Brack and Maranya had requested to be up front when the Falcon exited hyperspace, just to experience the novelty of space travel. Leia and Luke wanted to get a look at the Rebel fleet over Sullust.

Luke shifted on his feet behind Han's chair, trying to adjust to the various emotions crowding his own in the cockpit as well. He was touched by how Doc Brack and Maranya marveled with awe at the sight. He still sensed a steely resolve from Leia, and wondered if perhaps he'd ended the meditation too soon. Something still seemed to be gnawing at her, something beyond his and Han's imminent departure. He could tell Han and Chewie were impressed, which was hard to accomplish, and they were guarded, which was nothing out of the ordinary. Yoda, and Luke probed his master carefully and quietly so as not to risk his ire, was nervous. _Interesting_ , thought Luke. What was he nervous about? Their upcoming mission? Returning to action? Returning to society? Someone else needs to meditate, Luke said to himself. Then he silently berated himself for being cheeky. But it made him realize the relationship between Yoda and himself was changing. They weren't strictly teacher and student any longer. They were becoming more equals. There were things Yoda had helped Luke learn and Luke had taken off running, becoming better at them than Yoda.

Flight traffic responders directed them to a docking berth. Han and Chewie busied themselves with shutting down the ship.

Leia waited near the access ramp, her packed bags around her feet and her hair arranged in a new style.

"Think they'll give us a tour?" Luke asked Han in a playful tone.

Han snorted. "Not sure we'll be too welcome," he said.

They bantered back and forth about the size of the base and their status as non-members. Leia listened to their voices while staring at her bag, the one she had torn the patch off to give to Chewie when she appointed him acting general of Hutt interests. She'd given Chewie an active role and she'd vandalized Alliance property in the process.

Han and Luke sounded anticipatory, almost excited, but she had a pit of dread in the bottom of her stomach. She would be whisked back on base, back to meetings, planning sessions, strategy. Here there wouldn't be too much consideration for the Committee for the Displaced and she wondered now if Mon Mothma had been patronizing her on Tatooine.

 _I'm not a fighter_. The realization hit her with a jolt, considering the way she'd spent the last three years. But, it was true. She had refused a lightsaber. She had brought Darth Vader down with words, not weapons. She had always believed in the need for the war, for the end to the Empire, but she now saw more clearly her role in bringing that about.

Her role in the Alliance had started as a convenient cover. Her father had arranged for the plans to the Death Star to be delivered to her while she was on a diplomatic mission and she in turn would deliver them. That was as far as she had planned. Then her ship was taken captive and she became a prisoner of war aboard the Death Star. When Alderaan was blown up she had joined the fight, actively. She had done it because there was nowhere else to go. She had done it to fight for the memory of Alderaan and she had done it because she was so filled with rage and shock and someone needed to pay.

She'd glimpsed so much more, her time away. Maybe the Force had shown her. She had come into her own. She was no longer a Princess, a Senator; but she was a sister and she was a politician, and she was Force sensitive. Her gift was not in the fight but in insight. Even now she was doing it: she was reading her fellow passengers.

Maranya needed someone familiar. She was frightened and overwhelmed. Doc Brack bristled with optimism. She sensed an antisocial air about Yoda, as if he felt this initial meeting to be a necessary evil. Luke was patient. He had a goal and he knew his own purpose collided with the Alliance's, and he knew to just wait them out. Han was edgy, and underneath that was a need to convince her, to prove himself. She offered him a sad smile, thinking of walls. One was standing next to him.

"Keep her with you," she told him, gesturing with her chin toward Maranya. The girl's eyes were wide with uncertainty. Leia was uncomfortable, charging Han with her, and she wasn't exactly sure why, but it wasn't fair to turn Maranya over to base officials without someone watching out for her. Maranya had mentioned to Leia she thought Han wanted her to die, but she also knew Maranya would respond better if Han were along. Someday she'd get to the bottom of it. Someday. But now was not the time.

"Where will I go?" Maranya asked.

"Everywhere and nowhere," Han answered sardonically.

Chewie patted her on the head. "Don't worry," he assured her. "They'll take care of you."

"Chewbacca says your custody will include the highest of consideration and regard," C-3PO translated.

"I did not say that," Chewie grumbled.

"My elaboration included your gesture and body language," C-3PO explained haughtily.

"You read too much into things," Chewie said under his breath.

"I missed my squadron when they were on Tatooine," Luke chatted easily. "I'm hoping to catch them here."

"Invite 'em aboard the _Falcon_ ," Han advised. "Seriously, I don't think they'll give you clearance for all areas."

"You may be right."

"'Course I'm right."

"I'm going to try and wander around anyway. I want to check the base out. Never seen it all gathered in one place," Luke said.

"You won't leave, will you?" Leia asked suddenly, sounding panicked as the thought just struck her. "You won't without saying goodbye?" Her eyes traveled between the two men in her life. Han was loose but tense at the same time; Luke just glowed with quiet confidence.

"We'll wait for you," Luke told her, and Han turned her shoulders and aimed her towards the ramp as it started to open.

"Have fun!" Chewie chortled, and she gave him a dark look as the ramp finished its descent and she stepped out.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Han sat in the only chair in the room, his gaze distant yet steady on the sleeping figure in the bed.

It hadn't been as difficult to move about the base as he had thought. Maybe it was because he'd never really been an official member of the Alliance, and been allowed to come and go as long as he had landing clearance and a hold full of cargo. They were a little tougher on Luke, though. When he refused to be shut in a room to be questioned again about his plans, they had Wedge Antilles escort him around.

But it being a military base, it was as paranoid as it was slack. It let an officially resigned-turned-renegade Commander move about with an escort while it holed Doc Brack and Maranya in a room for hours, making sure of their bona fides and checking their back stories. The officials, and Han didn't recognize these personnel, had questioned the pair with what Han regarded as polite hostility.

They could track Doc Brack. He had a trail. They uncovered a promising future of strong academics, financial records showing increased debt and a revoked medical license. His story was accepted and his treatment shifted to how he could help the Alliance.

Maranya was a different matter. There was a birth record, and enrollment at a school on Tatooine. Then she disappeared. The investigative team was suspicious. Finger prints, retinal scans, DNA code all turned up nothing. Han felt they seemed to think she had just sprung into being, which was ridiculous. Maranya was becoming more and more upset. She initially asked about getting her jaw treated, but as their tone didn't soften she stopped talking and wrapped her arms tightly about herself, looking at the ground. Han knew she felt herself as much on display as she had at Jabba's, and that she didn't know why or how or that she even was, but she was humiliated. He lost his temper at them.

"Look at her," he snarled. "You idiots think she's got it in her to be a double agent? She's been with a Jedi Knight, for kriff's sake, and he's been drawing pictures with her!"

That had been a mistake, to mention Yoda, as he had not disembarked from the _Falcon_ and no one knew he was on base. It sent off a flurry of excitement, worry and fussing, instigating several comm calls to the Falcon. Han backpedaled. "OK, OK, forget I said anything. What happened to the other freed ones?" Han asked. "We sent a shuttle from Tatooine five, six days ago. Are they still here?"

One of the investigators nodded.

"Did you put them through this or was it enough the Princess vouched for them? I vouch for her; they'll vouch for her. She's just a kid." For the first time since he met her Han felt sorry for her. She _was_ just a kid. _A bad kid. No, a kid that had bad things happen, that had to do bad things._ He shuddered. "Odds are better for someone to become enslaved to a Hutt than to become Palpatine's spy," he snapped. "We're outta here. You gonna shoot me or tell me where medical is? We promised her treatment."

In the end they had let him go. Leia had asked him to stay with her until they got her settled somewhere, so he waited while she underwent a procedure to have her jaw broken and knit.

Now he sat at her bedside, waiting for her to wake up. He was leaning back comfortably, his arms sprawled against the armrests, but his booted foot jiggled rhythmically against the leg of her medcot.

 _A kid_ ….He had called Luke a kid, still did. And he and Maranya were both from Tatooine, both moisture farmers. Except she was really still a kid last she saw her farm. And her parents hadn't died protecting her, like Luke's aunt and uncle; they had completely given her up for their own safety. They were monsters.

Maranya sighed and turned her head slightly. Han could see light signs of the future bruise a bone knitter always left. He halted his thoughts, watching her carefully for signs of waking.

She looked better; normal. It used to be the sight of her misshapen jaw made him want to punch her and think she was a monster but now he could see she was just a girl.

She made a noise. She would wake soon. _Hurry up_ , he urged in his head. _I want to get the fuck outta here._

Her parents were monsters, Han decided. And they sent her to live with other monsters. She was like a character in a fairy tale, one who got caught on the wrong side of the story and couldn't find her way out. And then nobody was left to tell her story so they forgot about her.

Her eyelids were moving rapidly. "Maranya?" he said softly. _You're half monster._ Han continued the fairly tale while he waited. _That's what they do. The monsters raise you as their own and then they send you out make you turn others into monsters. It's how they breed._

She kept her head to the side, staring at the gray curtain that separated her recovery bunk from the one next to her, creating a privacy screen. She spent long minutes seeing the curtain, wondering what it was, and listening. Wherever she was it was an active place, but quiet. She heard foot falls shuffle, hushed voices, work being done. Her bed was moving a little bit, in a tempo, like someone was rapping it. She turned her head to take in the view of the other side of her room. "Solo?"

His dark eyes met hers. "Hi."

"Wha-?"

"Thought you should see a familiar face when you woke up." "Woke?"

"Yeah." He decided to be as unhelpful as she had been to him in many conversations. He clamped his jaw, forbidding any information to leak out.

"Am I...did I… is this still the base?"

Han's face softened. "Yeah."

"Are they done?"

"Done?"

"I mean," she was starting to remember. "I had my," they had named it something, but she couldn't remember what it was called. "Am I fixed?"

"It's fixed," Han said gently. It was the one thing she'd really wanted to happen; the one aspect of her future she could envision.

Her hand went to her jaw, touching it lightly. She brushed her fingers over her lips and her eyes shone in gratitude at Han. "I'm normal?" she asked.

"Well," he shook his head slightly. "You can't quite say that, but yeah, it's fixed."

She was not stung by Han's answer, and he felt a little guilty for abusing her when she wouldn't even understand she was abused.

"It's fixed," she breathed.

"Want to see it?" Han looked around the room for a reflector, but there wasn't one. Two of the walls were curtain. He got up and went into the 'fresher. One was attached to the wall over the sink. He tried to detach it but it was firmly bonded to the surface. He left the 'fresher and looked around the room some more. On a shelf was a metal pan. It might be for people to be sick in, but right now it was empty and clean.

He brought it to Maranya's bedside. "When you're ready to stand I'll take you to the 'fresher. But for now use this."

She took the pan from his and angled it several times before she got more than the top of her head reflected in the pan. She gasped in delight. "I'm fixed," she whispered excitedly.

"You look a lot better," he admitted. He wondered if there was an ending to the fairly tale, if they'd be allowed to make their own.

"I want to see it in the 'fresher." Her hands patted the spikes of her short hair.

He smiled at her eagerness. "Not yet. I'll get a med droid to assess if you can get up." He made to leave.

"Then what?" It had returned to her, the feeling of animosity she'd been greeted with. "Are you leaving? Will I go with you?"

"No," Han said quickly. "No." He paused a moment, looking at her seriously. "You'll stay here for now."

"What will I do? I don't like it here."

"You don't?" Han returned to the chair and sat again, his elbows leaning on his thighs. He didn't blame her for not feeling welcome; he hadn't gotten a good impression of the base either.

"No. These aren't my friends. Remember, at Jabba's, you said friends helping was good."

"Yeah..."

"And on your ship, it felt good."

 _Leave my ship out of this_. "You made friends."

"And now Chewie leaves. And Yoda. And you."

"Doc Brack is still here," Han offered.

"How many times did you think of killing me? At Jabba's." she asked.

The question came so unexpectedly and out of the blue that Han almost answered. "I - what?"

"Because then it would end for us. I thought of killing you."

"You did?" "Twice. If you were dead I would be alone. I wanted you to die, and you wanted me to die. I know it. That's how we all think. Thought. Us, at Jabba's. But I didn't kill you, because I know you wanted me dead, but you didn't kill me. So you are my friend."

Han pursed his lips, trying to understand. "That's some crazy logic, but okay." He looked down at her bedsheets, wondering when she had plotted killing him.

"It wouldn't have changed anything. Killing you. Or you me. We would just go somewhere else. Right? You'd get a new slave in the cell; every night, the choice of the Rancor. I would go somewhere else, still show seed when morning came. Nothing would change, just the beings. And you stood up for me. I let you live. I didn't know then, but I do now. It was because you are my friend. That's what your ship taught me."

"My ship taught you," he repeated dryly. "I'll be right back. I'll get a droid." He brushed through a curtain, thinking. She hadn't learned he was her friend, because he wasn't. But she was comfortable on his ship, and that counted for something. Maybe the monster could be tamed.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Leia surreptitiously watched the ramp and cockpit of the _Millennium Falcon._ She didn't see any signs of activity at all. Chewie and Yoda had left, pulled into a meeting with Mon Mothma once she had learned of Yoda's presence on base. Yoda had not been pleased to become a cause celebre. She had seen him slapping his walking stick with each step and complaining to Chewie in between huffs of loud sighs. Luke had told C-3PO to attend to Leia's needs, and she had finally managed to sneak away from him by giving him a tedious job at a data terminal. Luke was in the hangar bay, raucously exchanging stories with Rogue Squadron. They at least were not drinking. And she knew Han was still with Maranya because she had asked him to be.

Gingerly, cloaking herself with the Force, she crept up the ramp and stole into her cabin.

She had made a decision. She was not a fighter.

They had taken up where they had left off, just as she had suspected. Included her in meetings, in strategy sessions, in fighting this war. Three years ago they had included her because they didn't know what else to do with her and because she had insisted and because she was Bail Organa's daughter. She was a quick learner. She had to downplay her role as Senator Princess Leia of Alderaan because the Senate was no more, Alderaan was no more, and Princess Leia was famous for having escaped the Death Star. It was during the second meeting, when everyone keyed up their data boards to view the number of fleet in the Hunnarrd System that she realized they didn't need her. She'd been gone for months, and they had grown a fleet just fine without her.

Mon Mothma was more interested in Yoda and the Jedi presence for the Rebellion at the moment. The job of fashioning a new government now was not as urgent to Mothma as it was to Leia because it seemed they were so far from winning.

Leia decided to take action that would hopefully hasten the need for planning. She wasn't a fighter, but she was going to help end this war a little faster. She was going to join Luke on his mission against the Emperor.

She was not a fighter. She was not yet sure how she could be of service to them, but she would figure something out. As she palmed the door to her cabin shut, and became a stowaway, Leia smiled. She'd often complained of Han's spur-of-the-moment decisions, and now she was acting just like him.

 


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I added an accidentally omitted chapter. You were missing 35, so that is up. You didn't miss any important plot, just some conversation, so if you'd like please have a read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This morning:  
> It's not my fault.   
> No update?  
> It's not my fault   
> (AO3 was down)
> 
> Later:  
> I'm sorry. They arrived right before you did.   
> I'm sorry, too.   
> (Customers in my shop! I'm sorry!)

Leia sneaked quietly again through the ship. Bundled in her arms were several flasks of water and some ration bars. She made sure to use the 'fresher before the others returned and had flipped on the intercom switch. Here she was taking a risk. If Han or Chewie noticed the indicator light, she might be undone. But it would help her to know if anyone were coming near, or stars forbid, even to enter her cabin. Quickly she set her bundle down and pinched the little bulb with her finger. It would unscrew if she could just get a good grip on it…. She cast her eyes around, peering to see if Han stowed tools somewhere in the cockpit. Things happened so often on this ship he usually had a small set of tools nearby. There! In the pocket of the captain's chair. She smiled at Han's organization. She never would have thought it of him, but necessity often caused a character trait. Quickly she found the tool that would open the bulb covering and removed it.

She would have to be very careful if she wanted to avoid discovery before they landed on Coruscant. It wasn't just a matter of her physical presence, but her Force presence as well. Two Jedi Masters were on board, and these were the two she definitely needed to keep unawares.

Hearing noises outside the ship, she scurried into place, stowing her food in a drawer under her bunk and sitting on the floor where she could quickly disappear and remain undetected. _Hopefully_.

Yoda stomped angrily up the ramp of the _Falcon_. "Know it was you," he accused Han. "Wasted, my time was. Told you I did," Yoda pointed his walking stick at Han's chest, "avail yourself not of others."

Han failed to look guilty. "It's not my fault," he said. "It slipped out."

"Now spins does Mothma's head about the Jedi. Resurrect the Order would she like," Yoda muttered.

Luke started to follow Yoda up the ramp. "I'd like to talk to you about that some, too."

"Someone hail Leia,"Han ordered, lingering on the hangar floor. "We lift in thirty."

"You do it," Luke said, turning around. "I don't have a comm," Han told him.

Luke sighed. "You never do."

"That's not true," Han retorted. "Sometimes it's just off."

"I'll try and get her," Luke let Yoda disappear inside but turned around to rejoin Han.

 _My comm_! Leia dove for her comm in a panic. She managed to shut it off before Luke's call signal made any noise. She gave a sigh of relief. _I'm getting more and more like Han. Now I'm shutting off the comm._

A small crowd was collecting before the freighter to say their goodbyes. Doc Brack came down with Maranya to see them off. "I heard of your departure," Doc Brack told Han and Chewie. "I wanted to wish you clear skies and good luck."

Han shook the proffered hand. "To you, too. Settling in?"

The medic beamed with happiness. "Oh, yes. I'm made new." He shook his head in wonder. "I can't thank you enough," he said, his voice husking with emotion. "Really. I know, I know, to you it was just giving us a ride. But," his voice trailed away. Finally he seemed to be able to sum up his feelings, his eyes happy again. "But it was the most important trip I could ever take." He moved to Luke, shaking hands again.

"We'll be returning," Chewie warned. "Don't let me smell Spice on you. A Wookiee can smell it on skin long after the high has passed."

"Chewie says stay away from Spice," Han translated for him. "He says he'll know."

The medic held up his hands in protest. "Don't even put the thought in my head," he said. "I don't want to go back to that life."

"I will not hesitate to leave your sorry ass walking that desert the rest of your pitiful days," Chewie threatened, showing claws and baring his fangs.

Doc Brack looked alarmed. He did not yet understand Shyriiwook, but he certainly read the Wookiee's body language.

"Don't relapse," Han summarized.

"Are you sure that's what he said?" Doc Brack asked, eyebrows up in surprise.

Han laughed. "You got the idea."

"I think Chewie's saying he'd be really disappointed if you did return to that life," Luke told the medic. He looked to Han for affirmation, suddenly feeling self-conscious of his language ability. It was a shift form their normal dynamic, where Han spoke for Chewie. Luke wondered if he were overstepping his role, but Han seemed as if he were only halfheartedly following the conversation anyway.

Chewie stepped towards Maranya. "Take care, Simple Girl," he said, touching her jaw lightly with his huge hand before giving her a hug.

Maranya pressed her cheek against the soft fur of the Wookiee's belly. When she looked up there were tears in her eyes, though she said nothing.

"I know," Chewie said. "You will miss me. That is what your tears mean. Don't worry, it will get better. Sometimes the vine will swing you in a different direction than you intended."

Maranya looked between Han and Luke for an explanation. "Get 3PO down here, too, while you're at it," Han told Luke, who still held the comm in his hand.

Luke gave Han a fleeing nod but spoke to Maranya. "I'm not good with Wookiee sayings. But, he said to go along for whatever ride Life is sending you on. That good Han?"

Han gave a disdainful shrug. "Something like that." Luke suddenly sensed something from his friend, almost like a rejection or a finality. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it was like a door shutting.

"We better get going," Luke told Doc Brack and Maranya apologetically. He shook the medic's hand again and rubbed Maranya's shoulder reassuringly before following Han up the ramp. "What do you need 3PO for? Is he coming along?"

"Gods' forbid," Han groaned. "He's got the new ship's reg. Port Authority checks hard copies, and ones filled out by hand raise red flags."

They waited in silence a few minutes before the shuffling form of the golden droid tottered into view. His posture indicated hurry but his pace was agonizingly slow.

"Where's the Princess?" Han demanded when C-3PO reached them. "I am unaware of the Princess' whereabouts, Captain Solo. She set me a task which involved downloading a great deal of information, though how categorizing age, sex and species of our personnel will help the war effort is beyond me." The droid handed Han a document. "Here you are, Captain Solo. I only just got this printed out. I do wish you, Chewbacca, Masters Luke and Yoda success on your endeavor. Although, if I may venture my opinion, it seems a most foolhard-"

"Yeah, thanks. See ya around, 3PO." Han ignored the droid. "Where the hells is Leia?" he wondered. "Thought it was important to her to say goodbye."

The intercom was working well. Leia could hear their voices clearly from the cockpit. _Sorry, Han. I'll clear this up soon, don't worry._

"She's not answering the comm. Maybe she's stuck in a meeting," Luke commented.

"Maybe," Han agreed. "Shall we pull her out?"

"We can't do that, Han," Luke chided.

 _What kind of renegade are you, observing military protocol_? Leia thought.

"You're such an officer," Han said snidely.  _Bingo_.

"Shut up," Luke said.

"She has been upset," Chewie observed. "Perhaps she is in hiding - "

 _Crap! He always has known me too well_.

" - trying to avoid dealing with what you face."

"We haven't got much of a window," Han said. "We miss this clearance we're likely to be stuck waiting around until the next day."

_It's OK, Flyboy; just take off._

"Chewie could be right," Luke said thoughtfully.

"Leave, we should," Yoda offered his opinion.

"You're not, you know," Han made circles with his hands,"sensing her?"

Yoda and Luke exchanged glances. "No," Luke said, untroubled. "Everything seems fine."

"Seems." Han frowned. "I'm not buying it."

 _I love you, too_.

Luke sensed how Leia's nonappearance was bothering Han. "This is just like when you left us."

Han looked at Luke in disbelief for a moment. "No, it isn't," Han snapped. "Not at all."

"Yes, it is," Luke gently argued. "You were a part of us, and then all of a sudden you weren't. And we had no idea what happened. It hurt, when we couldn't find you, when there wasn't a clear explanation. All we could come up with was that you had taken off, but we didn't figure anything like repaying Jabba. We figured gambling or something."

"Thanks a lot," Han grumbled. Luke smiled. "I know. Sorry. But it did hurt our feelings. Even when we figured it out finally, but that was long after."

Han made no comment.

"We would have helped you, you know," Luke reproached.

Han shook his head.

"Yes. We would have. When are you going to learn that?"

"You took that hit -"

"I took that hit to help you. Don't you see that?"

"You're not helping much if you get killed."

Luke was struck with a strong sense of deja vu. "I've said that about you."

Han," Chewie interrupted. "We're clear."

"Damn," Han said sorrowfully. He took his seat and with mechanical reluctance began the lift off sequence. He activated the communications board, and his voice was amplified in Leia's cabin as the intercom magnified the microphone. "Hey, Control. Be sure and tell Princess Leia the crew of the _Millennium Falcon_ said – you tell it, Chewie." Chewie roared into the mic. "Dja get that, Control?"

"Uh, copy that, _Millennium Falcon_ ," Control answered. "Except, we have no idea what that was?"

Han smiled. "She'll know it, don't worry."

Inside her cabin, Leia fought a desire to rush out and reveal herself. Chewie's departing message was heartfelt and touching. _Wish you were here_.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Well, we're underway," Luke observed needlessly.

 _Brother, you always state the obvious._ Although they had moved into the lounge, they were closer to her cabin. Leia still had the intercom keyed on, which picked up their voices distantly, but if she stood near her door she was also able to eavesdrop.

"We're taking it in steps," Han told them. "Need to leave a trail for Coruscant Port Authority. Leia was right – "

 _Thank you for giving me some credit_.

" - any YT freighter is going to attract some attention as maybe being the Falcon, so we gotta set up a trail."

"I thought your forged reg lists a history of owners," Luke said.

"Yeah, it does," Han countered, "and I'm faking logs, but we need to show she's docked at ports. We'll layover at a few Imperial outposts."

Luke frowned. "Won't we attract attention there?"

Han wasn't too concerned. "We'll hit the backwater ones. I got stuff we can unload. And we can pick something up." He waved a hand. "Just whatever."

"Nothing illegal," Luke warned.

"We'll see," Han grinned devilishly.

Leia frowned. The trip was going to be longer than she thought. She looked around the cabin, mentally assessing the food supplies she had smuggled in.

"Yoda, where do you want to sleep? You want to take the cabin Leia used?"

 _No! No!_ Leia panicked, then forced herself to calm. _You will not need special accommodations._

"Suitable before was the couch," she heard Yoda answer. "No special needs have I."

Leia let out a delighted breath. _Did I do that? Probably not. He's a Master; not weak minded at all. Sheer coincidence._

"Just the four of us," Luke observed. "Going to be quiet."

"Even more so that we left the mechanical behind," Chewie said.

"Come on," Luke said, a hint of a smile in his voice, "he's not that bad. He can be useful."

"He was a waste of time on Tatooine," Han stated flatly. "There's three of us now that understand Chewie. We didn't need him to translate for the other two."

"I was glad Doc Brack and Maranya came down to see us off," Luke said thoughtfully. "I'm happy for them."

"Perished, they would have, with Jabba," Yoda said. "Fortunate, are they, their destinies with you collided."

"You mean with Han's destiny," Luke said, looking at Han, who remained stone-faced. "He was the link in between."

"Present, is he," Yoda intoned.

 _Not again_ , Leia thought.

"Not again," Han said, and Luke laughed.

"What do you mean by that, Master Yoda?" Luke asked. "You've said that a few times."

"Aren't we all?" Han asked.

"In one way, yes," Yoda answered. "In others, not."

Luke connected with Han's eyes in a conspiratorial glance. He shrugged slightly. "Doc Brack's got a job," he announced. The others nodded. "And Maranya looked good."

Chewie agreed.

"Don't you think, Han?" Luke pressed.

Han's nod was almost imperceptible. _What are you thinking, Flyboy?_

"You mean a lot to her," Luke told Han.

Han snorted. "No I don't."

"Yeah, you do. Somehow."

 _You want her to die_.

"It's complicated, but you do," Luke continued. "She watches you; I can tell she thinks about you, trying to figure you out."

"She knows there's nothing to figure out," Han said, his voice so low that Leia almost didn't hear it.

"I think she doesn't know now. Back at Jabba's, she knew. But now that you are both out, and you have your lives back, she's really uncertain about everything, including you. Where she fits with you."

"She doesn't fit with me," Han said adamantly. "Ever again. That was one…. Jabba's was …. it was a time. It's done now. Just 'cause I knew her then doesn't mean I need to keep knowing her."

"Moving on," Luke said, his voice gentle and thoughtful. "Like you always do."

"That's right, Junior." Han's voice was decisive, closing the discussion.

Luke ignored him. "She needs to figure out where she fits with you, though. Because then she can figure out where she fits in this world. You're that bridge for her. She won't be able to move on like you do."

 _Even though you never really move on_. Leia could tell Luke was thinking the same thing. _You just push it so far down._

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The _Millennium Falcon's_ forged registration was under the name _Feathered Sands_. It was a name they had bandied about on the flight back to Sullust, and Luke had won the argument. "The Falcon's got a bird in her name" he had insisted. "And on Tatooine, there's actually a flying avian called the Feathered Sand. Because it's camouflaged really well. And it's a fitting reference for what we've been through."

C-3PO had liked the moniker and congratulated Luke on the symbolism. He kept endorsing it to the group, until they finally agreed to it to keep him quiet.

Han ended the first leg of the journey on Naboo, docking in Kwilaan. He and Chewie registered the _Feathered Sands_ , Han not without some embarrassment, and then he and Chewie prepared to look for "work" in the port city.

"Just stay here," he advised Luke and Yoda. Leia's heart sank, because she really would have loved an outing out of her cabin unbeknownst to the others. Specifically, to the 'fresher for a shower and to deposit the contents of a flask she had filled instead of being able to use the toilet. It was beginning to smell rather strong.

"What are you going to do?" Luke wondered, with just a little worry. "Same thing we always do," Han answered with a wicked grin. "Hit a cantina and make some money."

"Maybe I should come along," Luke said.

 _Yes, go_.

"No, don't worry. With a stupid name like _Feathered Sands_ I'm not looking to attract any more undo attention. Just a quickie. I even have credits, so no trade."

"And no Sabacc."

Han scowled. "I can handle myself, kid. Be back in a few."

And he was good to his word. He and Chewie returned in four hours, unloading a small bag of credits and six bottles of Rikothian liqueur from his hold in exchange for four dozen Imperial Navy uniforms.

"Uniforms?" Luke had questioned. "Clothing? How is this of any value? Can't we go into a used surplus store and buy the same thing?"

"It's very useful," Han said hotly. "These are current. We're going to Coruscant, remember? We're not going to find the Emperor dining at the local burger joint. We need a cover. Besides, maybe the Alliance can use the rest on other missions."

 _Not a bad haul, Hotshot_.

"Alright," Luke conceded. "I'll bow to your criminal instincts."

"Yes, you will."

The next stop was Corellia. Chewie had pushed for this. Han was reluctant to return to his home world, but Chewie's point was that a Corellian freighter would be common on the world that manufactured it, and would raise less suspicion when it landed on Coruscant. Han reluctantly relented.

Luke was excited to see some of his friend's home world, as if walking on the same earth would help him gain some understanding. "I'm disembarking," he declared stubbornly. "Yoda and I have been ship board so long we need to stretch our legs."

"We take a passenger shuttle dirt-side," Han explained. "If we take on cargo we'll need to arrange for a cargo shuttle."

"Will you take me around where you grew up? Luke asked.

_Yes. And take your time._

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's not a homecoming, kid; it's a business trip, remember?"

"Still-"

"No."

Leia heard the noise of the top hatch as Luke, Han, Yoda and Chewie exited to enter the orbital port. She ran to the view port and stared down at the planet from the cockpit.

Because so much of the manufacturing took place in orbit the planet was relatively untouched by human engineering. There were wide expanses of green mixed with yellows and reds and lots of blue. The city of Coronet loomed below, visible from orbit by its network grid of streets and gray-brown coloring.

The first thing Leia did was empty the contents of her chamber pot. Then she went to where Han kept cleaning supplies and did her best to freshen the air. She ran her clothes through the auto valet, stealing a shirt from Han while hers laundered. She jogged in place and tired quickly of being constantly on edge, anxious in case they returned early. She didn't see how it was possible, but just the fact that it was possible did not let her relax.

Once her clothes were clean she tried to enjoy the spaciousness of the lounge, though she was still on eggshells. She sat in her favorite seat and pulled up the holoweb, just to keep abreast of current events. She risked heating some of the stew that was in the cooler, ladling out a small portion and smoothing over the dent her spoon made. She ate hurriedly, washed her bowl, and set it back in the cabinet. Then she walked through the ship, sniffing the air. Did it have a lingering odor of stew? Of urine? She decided it wasn't too noticeable, though Chewie might sense it.

She sat back in her chair, weary. It had been difficult, trying to mask her presence from Luke and Yoda. She made sure to sleep only after they'd both been asleep a few hours, and she woke much earlier than they did. So far, they had no idea a stowaway was on board.

"I don't belong here," Maranya commented to Leia as they navigated the Sullustan base corridors.

"Why not?" Leia questioned. When she looked at Maranya she didn't really recognize her as the girl she knew from Tatooine. Maranya's hair was a lighter color; straighter and longer. Her voice was different. Sundaria. That's who she was, Leia's very good friend from school on Alderaan. Sundaria had transferred out of their school in the second year and Leia had lost touch with her, but she often thought of her. Now Sundaria was most likely dead, along with the other Alderaanians from the Death Star blast.

"I just," Maranya shrugged, "don't know what to do. Like it's all foreign."

"Well, sure it is," Leia said. "But it's got to be better than Jabba's."

"I know Jabba's," Maranya said.

"But you can't have been happy there. You just need time to adjust."

"He can't be happy here, either," Maranya said. Leia knew without being told or shown she meant Han. And suddenly there Han was, at an X-wing. He was on the ladder, descending from the cockpit, but somehow at the same time he was supposed to climb in while he climbed out. Leia watched him struggle for a bit. Luke appeared, bearing a helmet under his arm.

"I'll get you," Luke called to Han.

"He knows to make himself fit here," Leia told Maranya, still watching Han, and now Luke, who had clambered up the ladder. "He won't go back to Jabba's."

"But I need him to."

"No," Leia contradicted her. "You don't. Leave him alone. You'll find yourself on your own."

"I'll get it, Han!" Luke called, his voice so loud it was like he was in the room with her.

Leia woke with a gasp. _The lift_! They were back and she had stupidly fallen asleep out in the open. She was on her feet before she was entirely awake, her heart beating fast and a sick feeling in her stomach. She heard the rumbles of voices, Luke's the clearest.

"It's been a long time for you," Luke was saying casually.

"Still," Han's voice was more distant. "Should carry it with me. It's in the cockpit."

"I know. Be up in a sec."

Leia whirled from side to side in a panic. _He was coming. Luke was coming!_ She needed to hide. Her mind went through the conversation. 'Cockpit.' He would have to walk straight through here from the lift to get to the cockpit. She rushed to get out of the lounge. His steps came just as she was passing the 'fresher. Still panicked, she palmed the nearest of the crew cabins. It didn't matter where, just hide, hide, somewhere, _now_!

"OK, I got it," she heard Luke say. "Coming back up."

"Not venture out again, will I," Master Yoda's voice came.

 _Damn_. Now she was stuck in this cabin, with no food, no chamber pot. Was it used? Yes, it was Luke's. Her heart sank. Exposure was imminent.

"How about a holochess match?" Chewie challenged. "Those two can handle it."

"The light, I shall be," Yoda accepted.

 _When he comes back, I'm doomed_. Leia sighed. _Now I sound like 3PO. What will they do with me? Take me back to Sullust? Has Sullust missed me?_ She looked at Luke's bunk. He didn't bother straightening the blankets as she did every morning. And he tossed his dirty clothes in the corner. Surely, Leia peered closer, he didn't have that many clothes? _We usually pack light for missions._ It was a large mound of clothes, something very dark-colored underneath his pile. _What is that?_ Gingerly, almost as if it was a monster, Leia lifted a corner of the laundry pile to see. She gasped.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Leia sat on the floor of Luke's cabin cross legged, her fist on her cheek. Gloomily, she followed the conversation between Yoda and Chewie. Yoda was still complaining about Mon Mothma and her ideas for a new Jedi Order.

"Wouldn't you like to see that, though?" Chewie asked.

"Mm, yes," Yoda answered. "Not the one to bring that about, am I."

"You mean Luke?"

"Possibly. Ideas, has he. Wise, is he."

"Yes, I find that too, for one so young."

"Open, is he. All that is needed, that is."

 _He is wonderful. Keeps a very messy cabin, but he's wonderful_.

"There's more that are Force sensitive, aren't there? They can't be the only ones."

"Many more, there are," Yoda said. "Know not, they are. Trained they must be."

"They probably just feel like they are different."

"Yes. Change must there be, for this new Order. Aware, are you, of a Jedi's reputation?"

"Of course," Chewie answered calmly. "The good and the bad. Han doesn't like them."

_He's coming around, Chewie. His best friends are Force sensitive._

Yoda sighed. "Palpatine's doing, that was. A master is he, at public relations. Old enough, is your partner, to have learned the prejudice."

Leia heard Chewie grunt in amusement. "And Luke is young enough to not know anything about them."

"Interesting, is it not?"

Dim voices came from above. Leia's lips screwed with her dilemma. _Time's up_.

"….well, I just figured you'd show me around a bit more," Luke complained.

"I did," came Han's answering voice. "You saw it."

"All we did was walk the streets."

"That's what I'm saying." Leia heard the 'fresher door close. _Might as well act_."You saw it."

Luke waited until Han exited the 'fresher.

"I did? You're saying I saw your home."

"The streets," Han pronounced clearly. "I grew up on the streets."

 _Oh, Han_.

"Oh," Luke said soberly. "I didn't know that." He fell quiet, thinking. "What about the weather? It was kind of chilly."

"Yeah, and it snows, too. Not like Hoth, but it gets cold. Gets hot, too."

"Why were you on the streets?"

Han glared at him. "Why do you think?"

"But, if you were an orphan – were you? - then, why didn't they place you with someone? Or," Luke could tell by the darkening of Han's face that there had been no one, "don't they have group homes here?"

"There's few regulations for 'em. And they're not monitored. Leia would say Corellia has lots of societal ills."

 _Yes, I would. And it does_.

Luke decided not to ask anymore questions. He would accept what Han offered and not push. "Like Tatooine and slavery. You'd think a Core World would have its act together."

"You'd think."

"That's how you know how to pick pockets," Luke observed. "I wondered why you were so good at that."

Han gave a small smile. "I'll take that as a compliment. Early job training. Chewie," now his voice was muffled, and Leia wondered what he was doing, "you eat all that stew?"

 _Ah_ , Leia smiled. _Head in the cooler_. "Yes. We figured you two would eat in town."

"Well, that was hours ago. I'm starving."

"My turn to cook." Luke offered.

Piece by piece, Leia got ready. It took some practice moving around, so she waited until their meal was finished and all four would be at the lounge table.

Then she made her entrance.

It got exactly the desired effect she was hoping for.

Chewie hissed and spat. Luke stood in surprise before he recovered himself, shouting, "what the hells?" Han exclaimed, "thought you said he was dead?" and Yoda calmly introduced her as she let her shields drop. "Short, are you not, for Darth Vader to be?"

Leia took off Darth Vader's helmet and took a big breath of fresh air. It smelled inside it, but she smiled broadly. "Hello," she announced herself.


	38. Chapter 38

It all came down to the suit. Leia knew that as plain as the nose on her face, but it was proving difficult to convince her compatriots of that.

They were all looking at her, stunned. She knew their shock; she had felt the same when first discovering Darth Vader's life suit in Luke's cabin. Her father's skin, really; his heart and lungs. She at first was sickened by the sight of it, half expecting it to rise on its own and resume the torture it had instigated on the Death Star. She waited for it, and she rallied herself to offer once again the challenge that had been her victory in the desert. But it merely lay there, lifeless and impotent.

As Leia's heartbeat resumed to normal she realized her continuing torment stemmed from the suit itself. A memory of Darth Vader and a memory of her heartbreak. But Darth Vader was not here to invade her very soul any longer. She stared at it and felt her distress give way to anger, again expecting the suit to distort her soul. Yet the suit remained deflated, defeated. It no longer could inflict any damage.

Darth Vader, or perhaps Palpatine, had branded the Dark Side of the Force with the life suit. Leia grudgingly admitted the brilliance of suit's symbolism. Outwardly, the suit was capable of great evil. Death accompanied the black skull-shaped helmet; lives were swept away by the billowing cape. Entire planets were destroyed while the suit breathed in calm and exacting rhythm. The existence of the Empire and all Palpatine desired was embodied by the mere sight of the life suit.

Leia considered the man inside. Anakin Skywalker had risen to great heights by using the dark side of the Force. He had been consumed by fear and greed. Yet the darkness alone had not been enough. Anakin had been forced to wear the suit because he'd been badly injured in his fight with Kenobi. He was rendered a prisoner of the suit. He would have died if it had not provided necessary life functions. His Master Palpatine had made the suit possible. Never again would Anakin ascend to the level of power he had thought himself entitled to. He would remain inside the suit, otherwise helpless. While witnesses saw the black-gloved hands commit horror, the man inside was a mere servant.

Leia understood what the suit was trying to tell her. From its exterior the suit was pure and simple. It was Evil: calm, cold, heartless and dispassionate. Yet on the inside the suit was embodied by a man made complex with regret, disenchantment, bitterness.

Anakin had given up the suit when he realized the suit was more than the man. And he had died inside it. Leia's shock dissipated and a plan revealed itself to her. The life suit was offering itself up to her as opportunity. Her father was finally able to offer her something of value.

If she were to take on the suit, she'd take on all the pain it had caused her. If she were to take on the suit, she'd be able to take on the Empire.

So she stood in the lounge wearing the uniform of Darth Vader and she waited for her traveling companions to reach the same conclusions. It was no use speaking to them as the impassioned orator she used to be in the Senate. Neither Yoda, Luke, Chewie nor Han was a seasoned, trained politician capable of grasping a lofty concept with words alone. Each was a servant of their own demons and would need to apply their own life experiences to the ideas she presented them.

She turned to Luke first. He was her brother, and was also struggling to come to terms with their parentage, and he had sequestered the suit in his cabin. He remained standing, a flush to his cheeks, and it took a moment for him to regain his composure after Leia triumphantly revealed herself.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded of her. He looked like he'd been caught with a dirty secret, and she felt badly about that.

"Showing you," Leia stated. "This is our way in."

"What do you mean 'our way in?" Luke tried to keep his voice even. "What are you even doing here?" He was shocked by Leia's appearance. How had she managed to be on board, here, on Corellia? Just when had she managed to sneak aboard the Falcon without anyone knowing? The others seemed to be more impressed with what Leia was wearing than the fact that Leia was standing in the lounge.

"Wait a minute," Han interposed. "Never mind her. That part's obvious." He pointed a finger at Leia. "Where the hell did that come from?"

"Luke's been hiding it in his cabin-" she began to explain.

"I haven't been hiding it, exactly -" his cheeks flushed hotly again.

"-I found it under a pile of clothes-"

"-I've just been waiting for the right opportunity-"

"And I thought I'd make good use of it," she finished smartly.

Han was frowning at Luke. "You haven't got his body stashed back there, too, have you?"

Despite his embarrassment, Luke smiled. Sometimes when Han spoke he made things seem bigger than they were, or he made them seem smaller, but it always had the effect of helping Luke regain his perspective. "No. No, there's no body. When he died, he sort of...disappeared."

"Became one with the Force, he did," Yoda said. "To the energy of existence did he return."

"And you wanted his clothes?" Han asked.

"Not really, I just...I can't explain it," Luke faltered. "I couldn't leave it to the desert is all. So I brought it back with me after he, after he died, and like I said, I've been waiting to figure out what to do with it."

He hadn't been able to do anything with it while they were all trapped on board during the sand storm. It lay in the corner on the floor of his cabin, and every time he entered he had to remind himself that it was just an inanimate piece of clothing that someone had used, someone who needed it to stay alive, someone who was greatly disabled. Greatly, Luke repeated to himself. Every time he entered his eyes were drawn to it immediately but he would just as quickly look away. It was a crumpled mass of cloth, trying to spark conversation. _Stop looking at me_ , he would tell the suit, and he started throwing his dirty laundry over it.

He didn't feel comfortable talking about his father yet with the others. Instinctively he knew Chewie would grant the suit the power to reach beyond the grave, and regard it with a fearful suspicion. Yoda had not yet been able to sort out his feelings where Anakin Skywalker was concerned, and would not be able to discuss it objectively. Luke didn't want, didn't _need_ , another's grief, anger and guilt. Han was just not sentimental enough, and Leia was as tormented as he was.

At least that's what he had thought. Now here she was, not only able to look at the suit, but to step inside it.

"Looks like Leia figured something out," Han said. His expression was moving from distaste and distrust to unbridled admiration. "How'd you manage to stow away?" Luke was glad to see finally someone else was as perplexed by Leia's actions as he was.

"It was a spontaneous decision," Leia admitted. "Luke knows how upset I've been at the idea of you all doing this, but it was being on base that I realized I couldn't be there alone. I just couldn't. Somehow, it was the wrong thing to do. It wasn't just me worrying about you; it was me not being with you – that was what was wrong." She shrugged. "So, I waited until you were all busy with something, sent C-3PO off to chase himself, and sneaked aboard."

Luke was momentarily flustered. "You haven't been in my cabin this whole time, have you? I'd hope I'd know."

"I was in mine. But I used the 'fresher and the galley when you went dirtside on Corellia and then I fell asleep in the lounge. I heard your voice when you came back and panicked and entered your cabin."

Yoda was also eying Leia with begrudging respect. "Shielded, did she. For us her presence not to sense. Strong, are you."

Leia shrugged modestly. "I think I learned that one on my own, early on. You said I used it when I was on the Death Star, and I wasn't aware of it."

"And you found Vader's suit and decided to….what?" Han asked. "Scare us?" His eyes flicked to Chewie, the only being in the lounge who had not yet relaxed in recognition of Leia. He had backed away, standing in the threshold of the lounge, and was regarding her with a strange mixture of mistrust and alarm.

Leia saw her plan may not get Chewie's approval at all. She puzzled over his reaction. He was usually stoic, full of humor and wisdom; proud of his status as Wookiee warrior and smuggler's copilot. "Chewie," Han snapped at his copilot.

He gestured with his palm at Leia. "Vader would not come back in Leia's body. He'd be too scared to. It's not a spirit – go smell her. It's the Princess."

Leia's insides glowed with Han's comment. But she knew she would need to reach the Wookiee. She approached Chewie, her hand held out to him. "It is me. I'm sorry. I didn't know Wookiee spirits visited the living. I wanted to show you, all of you. This is our way in."

"Explain," Yoda demanded.

"It's all about the suit," Leia said. "No one knows Vader is dead. I've asked Command to not release that information." She looked around at them, making sure they understood how important this was. "We'll have immediate and unquestioned access to the Emperor this way."

"So," Han broke in, trying to clarify her plan. "You mean someone, one of us, dress as Vader?" S

he beamed at him. "Exactly."

"Well, it's a good start to a plan. But it needs some work." He pointed at her again. "That's a life suit. It could be heard breathing for Vader through a wall -"

"You're exaggerating, Han," Luke interrupted. "But he raises a good point, Leia. Even Vader would have to speak, give orders. How are we going to get past the storm troopers if they don't hear him breathing, or how are we going to sound like him talking through the voice moderator?"

"And won't the Emperor sense it's not Vader?" Han added.

"By then it won't matter," Leia said. "That part is fine. Whether the Emperor knows or not, we're already there and it's time to fight."

"Yeah, but if he knows, and we're not there yet – that's when it gets difficult," Han retorted.

"Shielded Vader is, against the Emperor," Yoda said. "Hated him, did he. Careful to hide his feelings he would be."

Leia shot Yoda a grateful look. She had suspected as much, especially when she learned how strongly Vader had felt about his children. It felt good to hear Yoda confirm it, and to see that it mollified Han.

"Shouldn't be too hard to put one over the storm troopers," Han considered aloud. "They're not known for thinking." His eyes went to each in turn. "So who's going to be Darth?"

"Vader," Luke corrected quietly. "Darth is a title. Oh. Never mind." There was humor in his eyes, and he was hearing all the different ways Han had played with Leia's title of Princess. "I get it."

"Chewie's tall enough," Han proposed. The Wookiee roared in protest. "Well, you are."

"I will not carry the skin of the departed," Chewie said elegantly.

"It's a life suit," Han enunciated clearly. "Not skin. Nothing to it."

"No." Chewie was adamant.

"I'll wear it," Leia said.

An argument ensued, the one Leia knew she would hear from Han and Luke.

"No," Luke started to say. "You -"

"You're way to short," Han said. "And anyway -"

"I can't wear those officer uniforms you obtained," she retorted. "They would look far more ridiculous on me than me concealed inside a life suit. And there aren't that many female officers, are there? I'd stick out like a sore thumb."

"But look at you." Han rose and stepped next to Leia. He grabbed at the suit's wrist, and they all saw how it was empty except for fabric. Han moved his hand higher, and finally connected with Leia's hand, just below the elbow of the suit's sleeve.

"So?" she disdained him. "You once told me you could modify anything."

"I was talking about mechanical objects, Sweetheart. I'm not a fashion designer."

Luke tended to agree with Han. "How are you going to be able to walk in that? Or see?"

Leia was starting to lose her patience. "Typical males," she snapped. She had predicted this reaction from them. They were afraid for her, more so than they were afraid for themselves, and all because she was a woman. They thought she needed protection. "I can handle this as easily as you can, and you know it," she glared at them. "Who are the ones who got rescued from the detention cell corridor – you two!" she reminded them angrily.

Luke and Han exchanged sheepish looks. "You could've done better," Han defended themselves. "That garbage masher was not the best solution -"

"My point is, I'm the one who acted while you didn't," she told them.

"It's not our -" Luke began to protest, but Leia cut him off.

"I'm telling you, it's all about the suit," she urged them. "Look at the way you all reacted – like you saw a ghost! You all saw Vader, not a small female playing dress up."

The others sat in silence a moment. "She's got a point," Han admitted to them.

"I'll fill the boots with something. You can make me lifts. As for the helmet, by the time I really need to see I can take it off."

"Wait," Chewie said. He was not quite over the shock of a being stepping into the armor of a fallen warrior. To invoke a spirit's wrath like that…..But Leia's comment of typical male behavior was dragging him from his own cultural viewpoint to that of the Empire's. "Maybe I should wear it. The Imperial Palace is no place for a Wookiee."

"Correct, you are, Chewbacca," Yoda asserted. "Also no place is it for me."

Luke turned to Han. "Can Chewie go in as a slave?" He looked apologetically at Chewie. "Sorry, Chewie. But would that look out of place in the Palace?"

Han squirmed, looking guiltily at Chewie. "Wookiees were forced labor, construction projects, that kind of thing. I can't see any serving in the Palace. Can you?" he asked Leia.

"I don't know much about Palace life," Leia said thoughtfully. "I visited the Palace as a Senator, and only that one wing." She shook her head. "There were lots of life forms, but I don't remember any Wookiees."

"I am coming along," Chewie insisted bluntly. "There is no way you will convince me to remain behind. You dishonor me if you even suggest it."

"Accompany you, must I as well," Yoda said.

Luke pursed his lips. Leia had taken him to task on his plan for her rescue from her detention cell, but it had prompted a reminder. "How about we do this like we did on the Death Star?" he suggested to Han and Leia.

Han nodded slowly. "Prisoner transfer. Yeah. That might work." He grinned at Luke. "The Emperor will be glad to get you, won't he?" he said to Yoda.

"The last Jedi was I, that Palpatine saw," Yoda said. "Yes," he nodded. "Quite the prize will I be."

"And Chewie?" Leia questioned.

"With Yoda in tow, I don't think anyone will pay Chewie mind," Luke said.

"Probably not," Leia agreed. "And he was a general, so he's valid to be brought in by Vader." Leia studied the Wookiee, remembering the moment she had promoted him and the comfort he'd given her while they tended to Han. "Chewie," she said, with sudden excitement in her voice, "your second larynx. That day you…sang, to reach Han -"

"When?" Han demanded. "I don't remember any singing."

"Because you were unconscious," Leia told him. "It was sound that didn't seem like it came from any one body; it just filled the room. Can you do that, to make Vader's breathing noise?"

Chewie cocked his head and regarded Leia. Her smell had mingled with Vader's in the life suit. She had taken the skin of the fallen, and was asking him to use Wookiee song, meant for comfort, to deceive enslaving humans. It was a plan that went beyond what his species could ever devise. It turned his values upside down. Yet she was sincere. And there was an irony to it he was beginning to appreciate.

The Empire had enslaved him for twenty years. It had only seen what it could get out of his strength. It had not bothered to learn of spirits; it had not taken the trouble to hear the song the Wookiee slaves sang to each other to relieve the despair and hopelessness. For a Wookiee to be more than a strong warrior; for a Wookiee to bring about the fall of an Empire; for a Wookiee to introduce the essence of what it meant to be a Wookiee to the Empire; the strength, the song, the spirit; to undo that human superiority….now that would be a victory.

Chewie took a deep breath and as he exhaled the lounge was filled with a rhythmic hum. It was more like whispered vocals than it was simple respiration.

Luke was impressed. "It's really beautiful," he said. He listened some more. "It's not quite the same as Vader's respirator. It's more musical. But like Han said, storm troopers aren't supposed to think." He paused. "There's one more thing. What about his voice?"

"Take you to the Emperor, Vader will," Yoda said, transforming his voice with the Force to emanate from his diaphragm to project into their ears in a deep, rumbling bass.

"Watch your sentence structure," Han warned.

Yoda concentrated. "Vader will take you to the Emperor," he said in the same bass tones.

They laughed, encouraged. "I think this may actually work," Luke declared. He looked around happily. "We're crazy, aren't we?" He felt a surge of affection for them all. Just as Leia fleshed out the life suit, he saw how they added dimension to what he already knew of himself. His friends were his own life suit. Chewie gave him the head of a soldier, clear of purpose. Yoda was his hands. Because of him, he was a teacher, giving direction and offering patience. Han was the spine, unbending in loyalty and friendship. Leia's heart beat with his own, and together they would right the wrongs their father had committed.

For a moment Luke pitied Anakin Skywalker, so alone in his life suit. _We're going to use you,_ he told his father silently. _Your suit. I've been trying to come to terms with everything you did while inside it. It's going to serve a different purpose now._

 


	39. Chapter 39

Yoda liked the cool surface of the gaming table. He scratched a thick fingernail across it, enjoying how the nail glided across, like it was on ice. The table was still now; no warring game of chess was in session. He slid his nail around, tracing the squares, and thought it wasn't just the surface that gave him pleasure: he liked the table overall. He liked how everyone sat around it at mealtimes. He liked that it was such a focal point.

He also enjoyed it as a gaming table. Holochess was a pleasant way to spend the time. He had spent many an hour there during the storm, challenging Chewbacca or teaching Maranya the subtleties of the game. She had gotten quite good at it. Once, when she was able to regain her Warrior Chief piece and bring it back into play, she had instead inserted her own fist among the holographic images, smiling as the other pieces moved around her. She only removed her fist when the piece was called into action.

Days ago, while they were still on Tatooine and the sand storm held them in place, C-3PO had told him of the ancient history of the game. The droid, oddly, seemed to have a compulsive need to speak and felt a need to fill the silence. Captain Solo had chased C-3PO off while it endeavored to explain the game to Solo and Luke during the early hours of the storm, threatening to shoot the droid if C-3PO didn't stop talking. The threat was not enough to stop the droid's lecture. It had merely found another audience. Yoda had to admit, the droid was dismal company. Yet he couldn't be so rude to it as Solo was and had let it speak. It was something to meditate on, why he was sociable to a droid, and secretly he admired the uninhibited rudeness of Solo. Yet he had learned something, and Solo had not.

Yoda keyed up the board and the holograms took their places, waiting idly for play to start. Legend was, C-3PO had informed him, that a terrible drought had afflicted a world for decades. Yoda did not recall the name of the world or its peoples. Details like that held little interest for him. The drought had gotten so bad that the populations of two beings were reduced to small numbers. General ways of life fell victim to the lack of food and constant starvation. The populace sat listless on the parched earth, waiting. They waited for death or rain. As the years passed, it seemed death was more likely to come first. Weaving of cloth ceased as the plants disappeared or the domesticated animals withered away. Holidays were no longer observed as there was no longer food to help celebrate them. Children didn't go to school, lacking the strength to attend. Armies couldn't be fed and so were disbanded.

Yet war was one tradition not abandoned. Leaders increased their efforts at it as a way of gaining food. But since there was no longer such a thing as a standing army the leaders would gather in front of a board, with tokens arrayed in lines symbolizing their army. And so holochess was born. Each square occupied by a token represented a thousand men; each token's different shape - on the _Falcon's_ board they were different species - designated the specialty forces. They would play for supremacy and territory and food, and the only life lost was the defeated leader.

Yoda had found it fascinating. As holochess, war had become noble, symbolic. Then as the game spread to worlds that could afford armies and a battlefield, holochess had evolved into a pastime that highlighted strategy and developed thinking skills. It was a game of intelligence where war had been more of force.

He wondered what it would be like, to sit at the table with Palpatine and play a round of holochess to determine the fate of the galaxy. Palpatine was definitely a worthy opponent. He certainly had great intelligence. How long ago had he formulated his plan to become Emperor? It had been an intricate plan; one that took years in the making. He'd demonstrated great patience.

If Yoda had played, and lost, then his life would be forfeit. Not much different than what he let happen anyway, he thought. He'd spent the last two decades in exile on Dagobah, his thoughts with the dead inside the Jedi Temple. His exile had not effected much. His own life was spared; the Force was protected from the Sith Lord, but the cost had been too great. Yoda was now bowed, hunched with sorrow and regret and loss.

Twenty years it had taken – twenty three, really. Should he and Obi Wan have acted sooner? He admired Palpatine's patience. The waiting had been hard on Yoda. Had Palpatine suffered the doubt and misgiving as Yoda had? Or had the Force shown him to act decisively?

But, what was done was done. More then twenty years had passed, and they were here now, at the chessboard so to speak. Yoda took a deep breath, slid his nail over to the opposing Warrior Chief's spot. His thick nail operated the game, and he made his first move. His player lumbered two squares ahead and stood, waiting for contact from the other side.

"I don't get to participate in the way I intended," came the distinct voice of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Yoda smiled softly, his eyes closed. It was easier to see the Force presence of his ally that way. "No, Obi Wan. You do not. A shame, that is."

Obi Wan shrugged. "Not really. I merely died."

In life, Obi Wan was a mere youth compared to Yoda, still warm-blooded and eager. During Obi Wan's time their role had continued as Teacher and Learner, but in death the dynamic had changed and Obi Wan had become a source of comfort for Yoda on Dagobah. He used to visit often, but as so many of their conversations circled round and round on what they could have done differently – had Yoda gone back to the fight in the Senate chambers, had Obi Wan ensured Anakin would die, how Palpatine had manipulated them for years – he came less often.

Yoda looked up. "A shame, that is not? You were still young."

"I was a mere vessel for the Force. Now I am the Force," he grinned at his Master.

"Mind you not, being dead?" "I haven't the choice, do I?" Obi Wan smiled. "It is the final answer for all beings, the grace of the Force. The how and when depends on the life lived, the grace of the vessel."

"Clear to you, is everything?" Yoda asked. Obi Wan's words, while succinct, nevertheless summed up the general philosophy of the Jedi Order, and Yoda was gratified to see it had been on the right path. Life was to serve others, to build strength, character, self-knowledge.

"Only if we bother to look. But when one part clears, another muddies, so we don't bother to look."

"We?" Yoda wondered. He pictured Obi Wan with past friends and colleagues, a tradition of teaching, the heritage of the Jedi Order, spanning thousands of years, as ageless as the Force.

"The Force," Obi Wan answered simply.

Yoda nodded. If a physical being was a vessel and death made up the Force, then he was right in a way. Everyone that had come before was there, in the Force, even in him, vessel that he was. "Tell me, Obi Wan Kenobi. Now that dead you are, teach you any differently would you have?"

Obi Wan's answer was quick. "No, Master. Because you are alive."

"Ah. And life it is, that causes the mud?"

"Yes, Master. It is the sensations and experiences of life which cause the muddying of the waters, of the flow of the Force."

"Erratic fluctuations," Yoda murmured to himself.

"What did you say?" Obi Wan asked.

Yoda smiled and shook his head. "No matter. A discussion had I once, with a droid. But Obi Wan, guilty was I, of mourning you. Mourning all of you." Yoda was trying to apologize. He regretted that he was not able to fend off the rise of the Dark Side; that he sat mired, unable to clear his own mud; that he was so sorry his friends died so tragically.

Obi Wan nodded in understanding. "Despite your years and wisdom, Master Yoda, you are still a vessel. You could never have become as wise as you are, if you hadn't lived. But," he came closer, and seemed to grasp Yoda by the shoulders and give a little shake. "consider life like childhood, Master Yoda. It is wonderful, and it flares like the lighting of a saber, but then it is over."

"Saying are you, death is boring?"

Obi Wan laughed. "Not boring. You'll see some day." He laughed again, and changed the subject. "The Emperor is in for a surprise," Obi Wan told Yoda.

"Hope I do, enough that will be. Time it is, to unmuddy these waters."

"I'm looking forward to it," Obi Wan confirmed. "The destruction of Alderaan was too much. The waters barely flow."

"Perceive that, I do," Yoda nodded. "Such darkness, and all from one being."

"But he is alone now, and if he snuffs out the Light Side of the Force, his own Darkness will soon follow," Obi Wan added ambiguously. "Take heart, Master Yoda, for you are not alone."

"Never, am I, my friend," Yoda answered.

Just then Han Solo entered the lounge, making his way to the cockpit. Obi Wan observed the man as he stopped to peer at Yoda.

Obi Wan remembered the reason he had chosen to charter the _Millennium Falcon_. It was because a Wookiee had been in the Tatooine cantina, and that was a strange sight.

Wookiee civilization, while not as evolved as humankind, had developed to allow certain levels of industry. They engineered, they built, they traded with and flew to other systems. Yet the word they used to describe their own kind was The Rooted Ones. They always returned home, home being the trees and tribes of Kashyyyk. Why, Obi Wan Kenobi was prompted to think as he entered the shadows of the cantina, was a Wookiee here?

"Who are you talking to?" Han asked Yoda. Obi Wan and Yoda exchanged smiles.

Kenobi had been so interested in the Wookiee in the cantina he'd lapsed in keeping an eye on Luke. During their brief exchange he had learned Chewbacca had sworn a Life Debt but called himself a copilot. It was an interesting juxtaposition. An indebted Wookiee with a job. Intrigued, Obi Wan had followed Chewbacca to meet his captain.

"I speak to those present," Yoda told Han.

Han sighed. He was getting tired of hearing that phrase. "You finished saying something before I walked in. I wasn't present then."

Solo wouldn't sense him, Obi Wan knew. There was nothing wrong with that. He had expected a man of uncommon abilities when Chewbacca brought him to meet the object of his Life Debt, and had sat down, perplexed. He kept expecting someone else to join their table.

"Reflecting on my destiny, was I," Yoda said.

Obi Wan knew a Life Debt was an extremely serious undertaking. It was given because another being honored, understood, fought to preserve Wookie culture. While the Life Debt was granted because a being ensured the survival of the Wookiees, it would sever a Rooted One from his homeworld forever. Chewbacca, a Rooted One, was now a nomad, attached to a human who had no understanding of home and tribe.

Han's gaze was on the chessboard. "Playing against yourself?" he commented.

To win a Life Debt, Obi Wan mused, the being must be brave, devoted, principled. Solo was brave but it was because he was reckless. He was devoted, but to himself. His ethics were fleeting and ever-changing. That is what he had presented to Obi Wan at the table.

"Imagining was I," Yoda admitted, "of Palpatine as my opponent."

It was all a front, a top layer crusted over, a thick scab yet to leave a permanent scar. Obi Wan could scrape below it. Solo believed in something, he just didn't know what it was yet. He'd been knocked down over and over but he kept getting up, bloodied and battered, to try again. He picked the fight first, no longer the victim. It was better to lose faith in something than to lose faith in oneself.

"I'd give him best two out of three," Han responded swiftly.

Yoda chuckled. "Refereed, by a protocol droid would the match be."

"Not 3PO. He'd never shut up."

Yoda chucked again. "Noticed, have I. Golden, the silence is."

Han's eyes squinted, suspecting Yoda of making a joke. "I don't miss him either. I'm closing the ship down – you need lights on to talk to yourself?"

Yoda wiped his palm along the table, clearing it of the game. "No."

"OK." Han disappeared, waving his hand behind his head. "I'm leaving. No longer present am I," he called cheerfully. "Good night!"

Obi Wan's face glinted with humor in the darkening lounge. "I hired him," he told Yoda.

"So you did."

"I stand by my decision."

Yoda's cheeks unfolded in a smile. "Leave me be, Obi Wan. The living need their sleep."

"Goodnight, Master Yoda."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Han found Leia in curled in Chewie's overly large seat, staring wistfully out the cockpit window.

"What are you doing up here?" he asked her.

His tone told her she was not intruding and he was even happily surprised to see her. "While you were visiting ports for the _Feathered Sands_ to leave a trail, I was stuck in a tiny cabin, with only four walls to look at for days," she said with a sigh.

"Bet that got old quick," he sympathized. He leaned over the console and adjusted levers, changing energy settings for the night cycle.

"Are you keeping watch?" Leia asked out of curiosity. They were still docked in orbit over Corellia. Han had put in for departure clearance and was told to have the _Feathered Sands_ in queue late morning.

"No." He waved a hand towards the window. "There's security. Supposedly."

"You don't trust it?"

His lips made a pfft noise. "Anything's easy enough to get around, if you have a mind to. I'll do a sweep before we leave."

She shook her head, smiling ruefully. "Always thinking the worst of things."

"That just makes me pleasantly surprised when things go right."

The portion of Corellia visible from their orbit was cloaked in darkness. Leia returned her gaze to it, thinking of the trip Han and Luke had made down to it earlier, and what Luke saw, or didn't see.

Han had taken his seat and she stretched her arm out for his hand, to temper what she wanted to learn. "Your trip dirtside was quick," she commented. "So different than Luke's."

"Now, remember, we were stuck in a sandstorm for days," Han reminded her. "That's why his trip was longer."

"Yes, but he went _home_. He did what I would do if I could go home."

Han bristled. "Sorry, it's just a ball of dirt for me."

Leia nodded. "I know. We were nurtured, and you weren't. I just can't imagine coming home, and not having anywhere to go, or not wanting to go anywhere."

He could only reach past her fingertips from his seat with both their arms extended and used his thumb to rub over them. "Homeworld don't mean home, Sweetheart."

She nodded. She imagined herself as she was now, in Chewie's seat, quietly contemplating Alderaan from afar. So different than Han's experience. The places she would go! She would of course go to her home, find the welcoming embrace of her bed in her room, visit with her aunts and father. She would need days; all those friends to catch up with, and the market for the authentic foods she would never eat again, perhaps take in the exhibits at the art museum, because it was her favorite building in the entire galaxy, then to…. She pressed her lips together, feeling her nostrils moisten.

"Hey," Han said gently. He tugged on her hand and she rose at his invitation, settling into his lap with gratitude.

"I'm sorry," she said into his neck. "I'm sorry you don't have what I did. I'm sorry you can't even feel this sad. I'd rather be sad that I don't have a home to go to anymore than not feel anything when I look down on the planet I grew up on." Han lifted her chin with his hand and kissed the tear away that had caught in the crook of her nose. Then, ever so carefully, he turned her face and put his lips to her other tear, stemming the flood.

Leia closed her eyes, feeling her sadness, feeling Han's kiss. Luke had told her he was glad she was feeling again. Would it upset him that she felt such deep sadness? It wouldn't, she decided. Because she had been alone before, when she'd walled herself in. Now, while her heart broke, someone was kissing her tears away. From aching sadness she witnessed aching tenderness, friendship, love. She could be numb, and alone, or she could have everything.

The salt of Leia's tears was on his tongue. Han looked at Corellia with fresh eyes. Was he an ungrateful, heartless shit because he was totally unmoved by the sight of a planet? Sure, Corellia was beautiful by day in orbit. The blue expanse of the water stretched for miles, the forests now in their autumnal season. Even the gridwork of Coronet City had a manufactured beauty to it. But when he'd been down there, he hadn't swum in the waters as the privileged had; he hadn't been able to hike the woods. Instead he'd prowled for things he could steal. He had dug through garbage to find something to eat. He had people treat him like he was some kind of vermin and he had gotten a perverse pleasure out of taking things from their pockets and homes because if it gave them a moment of unhappiness then he was satisfied. "It's pretty from the outside," he said. "When you get down, inside, there's rotten parts."

"Like fruit," Leia said, looking at him with a grin. "And yet, you're so obviously a son of Corellia," Leia added. "I'm Alderaanian, but there's no particular look. Other Senators had assumed wrongly and wouldn't know until I sat in my seat. Fairly generic human. No one looks at Luke and declares, 'now there goes a Tatooinian!'" She was glad to get a chuckle out of Han. "But you, people take one look at you and know where you're from."

Han shrugged. "It's the accent."

"And the dress. And the food. And the designs…" she paused, sighing.

"Alderaan had all that," Han interrupted. "Even now." Maybe more so, he thought, since it was all gone.

"Yes, but," Leia broke off, trying to explain the difference. "Not as strongly as Corellia." Corellia's history was very old; the planet was proud and independent to the point of isolationist. It gave the world a profoundly strong cultural identity. The music, dance, foodways, all was instantly and famously recognizable. As were its children.

"OK, but what were orphanages like on Alderaan?" Han challenged.

She could answer immediately. "They were run by the state. The number was limited to eighty children. If it exceeded that the state was required to build another. Forty bedrooms, with four adults, educators and medical practitioners per ten children. Land was set aside for a CDP -"

"CDP?" "Cognitive Development Park. Just where kids could play. There was also a gymnasium for training and sports. The children were brought to the public schools for integration. Each orphanage underwent a physical inspection two times a year. Each child was evaluated four times a year by an outside sociologist. Reports were filed to the state monthly on budget, intakes and adoptions, and events, like the Home Fair."

"What was the Home Fair?" Han was enjoying listening to her. He hoped someday a world was lucky enough to have her call it home. She immersed herself so fully it was like a world could find a home in her.

"It was a fair each home put on. The children sold crafts and put on a show, met with prospective adoptive families."

Han nodded. "That's why you feel the way you do. You know your planet so well. And you cared; and your people did. Here's what an orphanage is like on Corellia: you start a charity, take over a building, don't matter what its purpose was before. In the name of the charity you take in money and goods. You get the kids from the streets. Or up here – did you see all the homeless kids begging? Oh, I forgot, you didn't go out." Han had been rubbing her back gently but the memories of his youth were making him fidgety. His knee began to bounce and Leia reached an arm around his neck to call him back to her. "You just take 'em. Promise them a meal. They'll follow, trust me. No one will miss them." His tone was bitter.

Leia planted a kiss on his jawline. _You took my sadness; give me your anger._

"Mind you, there probably were some good ones; real ones. Or else why would people give to the charity? The home I was in for a while used to be a factory," he continued, his words tumbling out. He hadn't ever thought about his childhood like this before, to lay it all out in its methodology like Leia had in her explanation of Alderaanian orphanages. If he'd thought about it before it was in sensations. Of being hungry, cold, afraid. He could talk like this. Especially with Leia's lips caressing his throat. "It was all durocrete and we all lived on the manufacturing floor. A bunch of us, all lined up on the floor on mats. No blankets. They didn't send us to school or doctors or try and adopt us. The money didn't go to us kids. No one checked on us. Meanwhile, the charity heads get rich off us. You should have seen all the rings Madam had." Han dipped his head. "The streets were better. At least I was fending on my own. I didn't have someone stealing from me."

She put her hand on his shirt and closed her eyes, looking for his heart beat in her fingertips. "You suffered."

"It wasn't all bad," Han affirmed. "It made me who I am. And I like who I am." His fingers alternately tickled the nape of her neck or offered a deep massage. She was simultaneously relaxed and stimulated.

Leia peered into his face. He was frank and confident, all Corellian male. Her mind whispered no warnings, instead focused on the contrast between the planet and her son. Corellia was rotten on the inside; her beauty superficial. Han had marks and scars on his skin for all to see, but his core was delicious, unblemished. She sat a little straighter, enjoying the sensation of her pelvis on his lap and looked into his eyes. _Kiss me_ , her mind silently implored him. _I want someone to know me better than I know myself. I want you._

He could read her like no one else. She thrilled as his face moved slowly to hers, their eyes locked, until finally his lips were on hers, and he was kissing her. Her mind wandered a moment, comparing this kiss to ones she had received from others, when she had asked herself, _what am I supposed to feel? is this it?_ Then his warm palm pressed the small of her back closer to him and she arched her back in response, letting her eyes close; felt them roll back into her head and got lost in the moment. For the first time in her life, she experienced a kiss wholly with her heart, with her body. Han gave her physical sensations as no one ever had. Her mouth opened to drink him deeper and she shifted the position of her head or torso to give him access to parts of her he couldn't reach.

She broke apart finally because she wanted him to know. "Han," she said.

His smile was tiny, generous. "Leia," he answered her. He waited.

She put a hand to his cheek and rested her head on his shoulder, looking out at the planet again. "If you hadn't been a little boy down there, we wouldn't be here, would we?"

Han grunted. "Yoda's been mumbling about his destiny, too."

"Alderaan would probably still be gone," she mused quietly. "And I might have died with it, or died on the Death Star. Or maybe I'd have been rescued, but I wouldn't be _here_ , now." Han took her hand and laid it on his, straightening her fingers. She grinned suddenly, his description of Yoda formulating a picture in her mind. "It's because of what we're about to do. We're going to change the galaxy."

"With any luck," Han offered.

"It won't change for Corellia much, though, will it?" Leia considered. "All those children, begging and homeless. Will they feel the difference?"

"Not initially," Han answered. "You'll have to bring the New Republic here. Or involve your Committee for the Displaced."

"I most certainly will," Leia promised him. "And reinstate the Corellian Senator. I didn't know him. He had already fled the Empire when I served."

Han huffed a laugh. "I can't even remember his name."

"He was friends with my father. Iblis."

Han nodded. "That's right."

"He was one of the pioneers of the Rebellion. Him, my father and Mon Mothma." She felt Han nod again. Her foot swung up then down before she spoke again. "It could easily have been Corellia that was destroyed. Or Chandrila. I'm sure the Emperor had them targeted, if we hadn't destroyed the Death Star before then." She looked out at the darkened planet. She almost couldn't see it. If she hadn't stared at it earlier in the light, she might believe it was as gone as Alderaan.

"What if Corellia had been destroyed?" she asked Han. "Would you be sorry?"

"Sure," he shrugged. "But probably not for the reason you're thinking."

"What then?" She thought he was probably right. She often didn't know what he was thinking.

"The Empire shouldn't be blowing up planets. Any of 'em."

Leia nodded. "It's a good enough reason." She stacked his free hand atop hers and finished by placing her other on his. She traced the vein that coursed from his knuckle to his wrist. "It's selfish of me to say this, but...your childhood. I'm glad it brought you here." She felt her throat thickening. She was sitting on the lap of the Captain of the _Millennium Falcon_ , or rather the _Feathered Sands_ , and he had stowed puzzle gems in her hold she had given him her heart.

"You don't miss what you don't know, Sweetheart," he answered sagely. He blinked suddenly, and his mouth fell open slightly.

"What?" Leia prompted. A distant look had crossed his face, like he was seeing something from another time, another place.

He shook his head. "Nothing. I just realized something." He removed his hand from their stack and gripped hers, shifting on his hip. "My leg fell asleep,"he grinned sheepishly.

"That's what you realized?" she puzzled skeptically.

"No." He kissed her forehead swiftly. "At Jabba's. I used to get so pissed no one fought back, you know? Tried to change their situation. But I was the new guy. They didn't see it could be different."

"Did you fight back?"

"Sometimes. I was trying to be patient, really, and stay alive and grab that moment, you know, when I could act." He gave her a nudge. "Come on, you gotta get up. My leg's all pins and needles."

Leia stood, laughing at the silly dance he was doing as he tried to bring proper feeling back to his leg. It was the first time he had brought up being at Jabba's without being asked about it. She grabbed the neck of his collar to bend him so she could give him a kiss goodnight. He hadn't offered much, but he demonstrated sympathy for the others he was with, and she felt it was a good start. It was a start. It had taken him what, three years? she realized. She could be patient.

 


	40. Chapter 40

"Look out!" Luke said for perhaps the fiftieth time.

Leia shook her head in amused disbelief. "Luke," she murmured, a smile on her lips.

"I'm sorry, I know, I can't help it." He palmed the air in apology. "I just can't get used to this."

"Try and relax, would you, kid?" Han growled from the pilot's seat. He gestured out the window. "You really think I'd hit one of these?"

"No, I know better." He did, too – Han had flown through much more difficult space and terrain before, and these buildings weren't even moving; not like asteroids. Consciously, Luke knew they weren't in any danger. They were flying around a city. But the optics of it were overstimulating his brain.

The _Feathered Sands_ had been directed to circle Imperial City while they waited for a docking bay to become available. Han had navigated into one of the space lanes and the small freighter had joined the seemingly endless line of fast-moving traffic.

Luke had never seen anything like the city before in his life. At first it had been an awe-inspiring sight. It seemed every available spot of earth had been covered with a building. In fact, Luke couldn't even see the ground. Then he began to get a queasy feeling as he realized what the enormity of the number of buildings meant.

It was a fight for space. He felt the lives of the individuals down there, trying to keep a toehold on the little bit of space they tried to call their own before someone tried to wrench it away from them. He knew if he were to go down there, he would find rudeness and apathy and negativity. Every being out for himself. He looked at Yoda in surprise, thinking _you actually lived here?_

Luke flinched again as the reflected image of the _Millennium Falcon_ seemed to collide with the _Feathered Sands_. It was the glass; that's what threw Luke off. While it was true he'd never seen so many buildings in one small space, it was the use of glass in the architecture.

Some of the buildings soared higher than the space lanes. Their length climbed the sky and Luke assumed they would only stop when they reached the atmosphere. They covered the ground and they crowded the air; slender, shimmering, seemingly transparent. As they cruised by at a fairly brisk speed considering it was planetary traffic, Luke caught glimpses inside some of the buildings. He noted residences and he spied offices. No blinds or curtains were in use, just open spans of rooms with glass walls and furnishings to show how the beings used their slice of space. Glass was so predominant that the stone or metal of the building's other constructive material was a mere frame for all the glass. In some he couldn't see anything else but glass, and that's what was causing him to cry out. They acted like a mirrors, doubling the traffic and shifting angles so that reflections looked like oncoming traffic and Luke was fooled into believing they were headed for a collision. Blearily he rubbed his tired eyes. "People really want to live in the sky?"

"They don't live in the sky," Han retorted. "Just high up."

"They keep building up," Leia murmured. "When a level gets what some consider seedy, they add a new layer and move up."

"Is there even any earth?" Luke asked.

"Of course there is," Han answered. "Buildings need a foundation."

"But where's the ground?" Luke persisted. He leaned over Han's shoulder, as if the few inches closer to the viewport he got would reveal to him the dirt of Imperial City. "I don't see anywhere to walk. I don't even see city parks or anything like that."

"Coruscant," Leia used the historical name for the city as she refused to acknowledge the Empire, "is tens of thousands of years old. What you are looking at is layers of occupation. The true earth is several miles down."

"Miles?" Luke echoed in amazement.

"You don't want to visit the lower levels," Chewie cautioned. The beings down there have fallen from the trees."

"What happens when a Wookiee falls from a tree?" Leia asked. She knew what he meant; but she loved hearing the Shyriiwook adages because it shone a small light into Chewie's world.

"It's an expression," Han answered, taking his eyes off traffic for a moment to share an amused glance with Chewie. "Pretty obvious meaning, I would think."

"Then they don't live like other Wookiees," Luke surmised. He looked at Chewie. "But what IF a Wookiee falls from a tree? Can he get back up?"

"Of course. And others go to look for him. Coruscant is not Kashyyyk," he stated simply.

"It's a good point, about city parks," Leia said. "The buildings are connected through walkways, like that one over there," she pointed out a span that stretched horizontally over the space lanes, and Han veered to it so Luke could have a better look. Han waved nonchalantly to the other shuttle pilot he had cut off. Everyone could see the shuttle's cockpit and the pilot inside, who was gesturing angrily. Leia gripped the back of his seat tightly. "Watch it, Han. Obey the traffic, please. We don't want to get stopped now." She waited a moment, to be sure the shuttle wouldn't exact revenge and that Han wasn't going to bait the other pilot further. Han made a swoop under and over the walkway. "As for parks, a building might have green space contained inside it. A lot of it is artificial, but the really expensive ones have actual landscaping with real imported dirt and plants. Even animals."

"Imported nature," Luke marveled. He thought of the relentless builders, and how they gradually erased the indigence of Coruscant until there was nothing left. Did the importation of nature show they regretted what had become of Coruscant? Or were the residents here so extravagant, their lifestyle so exorbitant, that nature was now a purchase? "What a crazy place," he said.

Leia smiled. "My father kept an apartment here for our use during the Senate session. It's in the government district. Two hundred and fifteenth floor. It used to be a fashionable building. I'm not sure if it is anymore."

"If, even still there, it is," Yoda hinted.

"True," Leia said sadly. "I'm sure the building is. I doubt I own the apartment anymore. Palpatine probably seized anything former Senators owned when he disbanded the Senate."

Chewie eyed her carefully, looking for pain on her features. He saw none, and he was glad for it. "You have no desire to see it again, do you, Princess," he observed.

Leia meant a lot to Chewie. She had been rude to him on the Death Star, but Han was often rude when he was under great stress, so he forgave her instantly. In a way, it was endearing. He thought she and Han were alike in many ways. But it was Leia's concept of home that found her a place in his heart, as it was very similar to Chewie's own. Maybe it was because she was a Princess, or it was because of her occupation as Senator, but she regarded her home with a deep attachment and connection.

He had been lonely traveling with Han, someone who shrugged off his home without a backward glance. Han's answer was to renege on the Life Debt so Chewie could go home, but the Debt was for home and Han understood nothing. Each of their actions had resulted in both Chewie and Leia being permanently separated from their homes and Chewie had found a kindred spirit. They were bonded by a keening sense of loss. It would always be there, but it wasn't as bad when he could share it with someone.

Leia's eyes were smiling back at him. "No, Chewie. I don't. I think if that's the only thing Palpatine did, dissolve the Senate, I'd have let it go and never returned here. I have no allegiance to Coruscant."

"It's the opposite of the desert," Luke decided. "And yet it is a desert. But I'd take the sands of Tatooine any day over this. Even Dagobah." He turned to his teacher. "It surprises me, the Jedi being here."

"Ventured out, did I not," Yoda explained. "Stood the Temple, a long time. Watched the planet change. A symbol it was, of the Old Republic. A place of peace it was."

"Maybe you should have ventured out," Han offered, not too kindly. "Kept up with all the changes."

Chewie assessed Yoda as he had Leia. "Would you go back to the Temple?" he asked, thinking he knew what the answer would be.

Yoda pressed his lips together against the desire and sorrow. "My home it was," he said. "But learned, I have, to stay not in the past."

Underneath his breath, Han muttered, "Present are we," and Luke and Leia grinned at each other. Yoda poked Han forcefully in the shoulder blade with his thick nail. "Ow," Han complained.

"This time, understand you do," Yoda said stubbornly.

Luke crinkled his brow. "The Force is….it's here, but it's….I don't know, subdued. It's an awful place."

Yoda nodded in agreement. "Palpatine's doing, that is. Attempt he does, to smother the Force."

"Smother," Luke mused over Yoda's choice of word. "Good thing he can't completely," he declared quietly, "or I'd be worried."

"What worries me," Han said, "is all these private landing pads we keep passing. Darth would have his own at the Palace, wouldn't he?"

Han continued to use Vader's Sith title as a personal name, and Luke appreciated him for it. He was trying not to build expectations. He'd had them about confronting Vader on Tatooine, and been wrong on most points. They had stemmed, mostly, from conversations with Yoda. About Vader's strength, about his use of the Dark Side, about how he served the Emperor. He was being careful now, open. He didn't want expectations to color his future. He thought confidence was a cocky emotion, but he also felt fear was a useless one, though it was hard to avoid. Han's use of the title was like sprinkling water on a flame. The water didn't douse the fire completely, but the flame sputtered and failed to reach its potential

. "He would, I'm sure," Leia remarked. "But reserved for his personal shuttle. I wonder if it's on Tatooine."

"Even with the right ship, we still lack codes and clearance," Chewie added. "Unless," he looked at Luke with humor lighting his face, "you two discussed it in the desert?"

"No, Chewie," Luke smiled, teasing back. "I didn't think to ask. Wish I had, though. He'd have told me."

Leia gave him an odd look. "What makes you say that?"

"He did tell me he would like to see the fall of the Emperor," he told her.

"It's just as well he won't," Leia said. "There's no place for him in this galaxy. There's not enough he could do to earn redemption."

"He knew that," Luke answered her quietly. Sometimes it still hit him with a pang, what a waste his father's life had ended up being. The Emperor had played him for a fool; had played the entire galaxy for fools, and Luke knew it would have been more than satisfying for Anakin to turn against the Emperor as the Emperor had had him turn against the Force.

"We get a docking bay, we'll call some Troopers to help Darth take the prisoners up to the Emperor," Han suggested.

"We need Troopers?" Luke asked. Upon leaving Corellia they all had seemed content with the plan that they fashioned after Leia convinced them they only needed to impersonate Darth Vader. Now here they were, about to make planetfall, and they were still raising points they should have settled on hours ago.

"You know where to go?" Han turned on him. He felt tense. He had done some crazy things in his past but never with such deliberation. It seemed a contradiction. They had a plan, which indicated research and forethought, and the plan was to just walk in and see what happened along the way. He was worried about Luke and Leia and hoped that Yoda would take the brunt off them. Leia squeezed his shoulder. "How about you, Your Lordship?" Han turned to look at her. "You know your way around the Palace?"

"No, I've told you. Just the Senate wing." She squeezed his shoulder again. "Your idea is good. The Troopers will lead us."

"Do you think Troopers know where to go?" Luke argued. "They probably don't go in audience with the Emperor."

"Oh, they know," Han assured him. "They might never have been wherever it is the Emperor likes to hang out, but sure as gundarks have ears, they know where it is."

" _Feathered Sands_ ," a voice broke over the communications relay, "you are cleared for landing. Proceed to Docking Slot 3711OC."

"Copy," Han started to say. "Wait, slot? Come on guys, she's a freighter. Got anything bigger?"

"Since you are not unloading cargo space is not a priority," a haughty voice informed the Captain. "Specs of the _Feathered Sands_ show she'll fit in Slot 3711OC. Please proceed to landing. You have been cleared."

Han placed a palm over the speaker. "Should I name drop?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. "Tell 'em Darth's on board?"

"No, let's not alert the entire port," Leia said. "Just take what they offer."

"3711OC," Han clarified, removing his hand from the speaker so he was heard properly. "Proceeding." He shut the relay off and glared at Luke. "If they were directing the Falcon in they'd give her a proper bay. Who can respect a ship with a name like _Feathered Sands_? It doesn't even make sense."

"I told you," Luke countered evenly. "It's a bird. And it's got nothing to do with her name. If we came in as the _Falcon_ we'd be arrested soon as the ramp came down. Even with Vader on board."

"Fine," Han grumbled. "I'll

squeeze into a slot. But when we dress as Imps I'm outranking you, got that?"

"Alright," Luke conceded with a sigh. Han's tone was childish but his eyes were serious. Luke understood. No one wanted to mention out loud how preposterous what they were about to attempt was. No one wanted to mention the odds of their slim chance at success. Reality was setting in. Each had their own way of dealing with it. It was like his companions were made of glass, and he could see into them. They were each profoundly affected but coping in their own way. Han complained, that's all it was. Leia turned inward and became very focused and intense. Chewie stood and stretched. Ripples of his fur ran along his body as he flexed muscles to warm up for battle, Wookiee style. Yoda was serene in the Force, breathing deeply and looking at nothing. Luke hoped that from the outside they appeared like the mirrored reflections of the buildings, distorting the truth and fooling the eyes.

Luke looked around at them all, and he wondered if everyone else's heart was breaking to think that the group of five may rejoin smaller in numbers later, if at all. He wanted to grab them all in fierce hugs and tell them he loved them.

"Vader can promote you to Captain of the _Feathered Sands_ and I'll be your lowly lieutenant," he said instead.

 


	41. Chapter 41

"Don't get 'em wrinkled," Han said.

Luke was rifling through the four dozen uniforms Han had acquired on Kwilaan, looking for a size that would fit him. He lifted a jacket to get the size information, and tossed it disgustedly off to the side.

"One of these ought to fit," Luke grumbled. "They're all Standard W/L."

"That pretty much sums up the Empire," Han remarked, pulling up a pair of trousers over his hips and fastening them. "Standardized." He reached at the back of his neck and pulled his white spacer's shirt off.

Luke watched him slip a sleeve of the uniform shirt up to his shoulder. The scar on Han's chest was a lot less noticeable than it had been the last time Luke saw it the day of Han's release from the medcenter. His eyes followed the creases where the shirt had been folded, noting they were sharp, the seams hitting exactly where they should. "That one fits you," he said resentfully.

"'Cause it's my size."

Luke dumped another uniform on the pile he'd rejected. "So you're saying you're standard?" Luke said snidely, picking up another and unfolding it with a shake.

"I'm saying it's my size. Seriously, Luke. You're being a slob," Han chided, picking up discarded shirts and refolding them. "Fold them up like they were."

"So even height and weight is uniform in the Empire?"

"They like 'em to be," Han answered. "But the Admirals and Moffs, they live high. Get their uniforms custom made."

Luke was shocked. "You mean I might never had made it to officer if I had joined because I'm short?"

Han, amused by Luke's outrage, held up a jacket against Luke's shoulders. "At least you're not standard. Here, try this one."

When Luke had merely been the nephew of a moisture farmer on Tatooine, he had dreamed of being an Imperial Navy pilot. Many young human males did. In fact, it was such a common ambition that Luke had felt no qualms mentioning it to Han, at the time someone he barely knew. It was when they were making their escape from the Death Star, on the way to Yavin three years ago. Alderaan was destroyed, Ben was slain, the last Princess was showering away the stench of the garbage masher, and Luke was rejecting the ideas of his youth.

Luke had wanted someone to know. It made his enlistment to the Rebel Alliance that much more significant; that someone would not only witness him turning his back on his membership to an Empire, but that someone should see him shed that dream, like a skin outgrown.

He'd learned later that Han had not only shared the dream but made it a reality, only to forgo a promising career when he actively protested against the Empire's practice of slavery. Looking at Han, standing trim and crisp in the contraband uniform, Luke could understand the dream, why youth probably still dreamed it. If he didn't know Han better, he'd have said Han looked transformed. The uniform made a statement. It was about respect, and glamor, and excitement. But it was all superficial. A lie. The Empire didn't respect anyone; not even their own. The excitement was from adrenalin and a fear of dying, and the glamor didn't exist at all. It was sweat and dirt and blood.

Han was frowning at Luke. "It's the sleeves," he said. "Your pants will be shoved into boots, that's nothing. But the shoulders," Han chopped the sleeves upward at the shoulders with his fingers, "are a bit droopy." He shrugged, unable to offer a suggestion. "I'm no tailor."

"How's it feel for you?" Luke asked him. "Wearing it again?"

"I was wondering if I'd break out in a rash," Han said wryly, a sardonic grin climbing his face. "Mine was black. Tie Fighter pilot." He sought out his reflection in the dull metal of the storage bay. The stranger looking back at him offered him absolutely nothing, which surprised him, but he was glad for it.

The last time he'd worn an Imperial uniform was during his court martial, when they stripped it from him. The months after that were a bit of a blur. Drunk, he spent hours blaming the Empire for their stupidity. Sober, he couldn't help but wonder as he looked at the Wookiee who had taken to following him around if he'd made the biggest mistake of his life.

He had not entirely been a man of principle as an Imperial pilot. He had been willing to look the other way. But the slaves were making hm increasingly uncomfortable, and it wasn't until his conversation about orphanages with Leia the night before that he realized why.

There had been too many parallels. Subconsciously he regarded himself and the Wookiees the same; he understood their situation. He and the others were in the orphanage to serve Madam. She took them off the streets, just took them; and then she took everything she could from them and offered them nothing in return. What bothered Han most about slaves was that probably someone missed them, loved them, wanted them back. No one had missed him. But he knew how they felt, those Wookiees, exactly. It was worse, he thought, to be missed and to be a slave than to be a slave and not missed at all.

He had freed himself from Madam. Left one day and took to the streets. Madam didn't know the streets like the children did. He could elude her easily, and he did. She was a favorite target, when he needed credits or food. He'd broken into her home a few times and when he planned on stealing her wallet from her purse, he would wear something on his head so she didn't recognize him when he deliberately bumped into her. He had freed the Wookiees in much the same manner. Just got them away. It had been costly, very costly. Emotionally, physically, Han had been a wreck for a long time afterward. But time had a way of smoothing the rawness and uncertainty, filing it down to nothing, like sand in the Dune Sea. He could think about it now. It had a place in his history, an important, defining one. He was proud to be a pilot, both when in the Navy and as Captain of the Falcon, but he was more proud to be a smuggler with a Wookiee copilot than he ever had been of achieving rank in the Imperial Navy.

"Was it the last time you had a legal job?" Luke joked.

"I've had plenty of legit jobs," Han retorted. "Learned more from them than I did with the Empire."

It was true, too. Han took on numerous odd jobs. Some to get by, some to learn something new, some just to pass the time while he waited for that big smuggling payday. He had long ago stopped counting how many times he'd hired himself out for, but he appreciated the experience he'd gleaned from them. Without them, he'd never have known to fashion a drill bit by melting black jewelwood. He could mix the recipe for an explosive as easily as a Spiced Ice beverage and he knew how to predict the seeming arbitrariness of an asteroid. His strength was in merging all the skills together. None of it had been wasted time, he decided. Not like the Navy.

He stuck his tongue out at his reflection. "Anyway, this isn't the real thing. It's a masquerade."

Luke nodded. "I like the irony. They think they're invincible, but we're taking them down from the inside. They'll never expect it."

"The ultimate betrayal," Han nodded, fishing in a bag for some rank plaques. He tossed one to Luke. "Here, attach this. Left side."

Luke examined his catch. His rank plaque was four squares, two red and two blue. He was not familiar with Imperial plaques. "What rank am I?"

"Lieutenant," Han answered him. "Just like we discussed." Their cover story was that Vader had discovered Master Yoda on Kwilaan and needed a small crew to fly the seized ship back to Coruscant. "What do you want me to call you?" Han pinned his own bars over his chest. His were three wide and two rows; Captain's rank.

"I don't know. Lieutenant Owen?" Luke suggested.

"Should have gotten some names from Kwilaan," Han said. "In case someone bothers to check."

"How about Captain Nuro for you?" Luke asked. "Kind of rhymes with Solo. Doesn't that mean 'one' somewhere?"

Han shrugged. "I don't know. You'll probably just call me 'Sir'." He stepped back to appraise Luke. "Not bad, Junior. You clean up well. We just need guns, and I'll get some manacles for our prisoners."

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Leia was practicing walking around in Darth Vader's life suit. Han had placed a block inside the heels of the boot step that increased her leg height by about four inches. Any higher and she wasn't able to slide her foot down onto the insole. It was not unlike walking in high heels, and she found she was getting the hang of it.

The suit was obviously too big on her. When she saw her reflection in the reflector she saw how ridiculous she looked. But she only needed to remember everyone's reaction when she had appeared in it and her doubts disappeared again. Darth Vader loomed larger than life. His reputation was so formidable that a being's eyes were easily deceived. They didn't see what was in front of them. It brought to mind the moment she had slipped Han a pistol in Jabba's palace. The audience was so engrossed in what they thought they were seeing – two former and embittered lovers - they never noticed she had removed the gun from her sleeve and dropped it down Han's pants.

She tromped out into the lounge, carrying the rest of the suit. Yoda and Chewie sat idly at the table, their hands manacled at the wrists. Han and Luke were in the process of fitting belts around their waists.

They looked so handsome, she thought. Luke in uniform, other than the casual Rebel attire he wore off duty or the baggy orange flight suit, seemed older, more mature. Han's form was long and lean, trim and classic. It was probably the most elegant clothing they had worn since she'd met them.

Both she and Luke had no belongings with them when they arrived at Yavin after fleeing the Death Star. She had been given a gown to wear for the medal ceremony, and she knew Luke had borrowed clothes from Han for it. Han hadn't bothered to dress up for the ceremony. Maybe it had been so Luke wouldn't feel out of place; maybe he hadn't wanted to. He'd changed his shirt, she remembered. That was all.

Her heart twisted. They looked so wholesome; young and healthy, dressed in suits. They should be adjusting belts and tugging on their jackets for some party, she reflected. Maybe someone's wedding, or just a dance. Her classmates behaved the same way before a ball on Alderaan. The boys, too, fussing over their appearance. She lost herself in the memory of them. And oh, Han and Luke deserved a ball, she thought. She did, too. She would wear a light, flirty, colorful dress, and she would enter on Han's arm. They would dance, and drink, and laugh….she sighed. Oh, well. They were at war.

But the war was not to blame. It was the Empire, she affirmed to herself. It was the Empire that put them in this situation. Instead of three careless youths going to a party, it was three people old before their time, their lives disrupted by tragedy and pain.

 _And we'll fix that pain_ , she determined.

Luke spread his arms out to her. "How do we look?" he asked, looking for an honest opinion.

"I'm glad I had you boys get haircuts in Mos Eisley," was all she said. She forced herself to stop thinking about what was and what would never be, or else she would never be able to leave the ship. "You wouldn't pass merit otherwise."

Han tugged his officer's cap more firmly over his brow and brushed imaginary lint off Luke's shoulder.

"We look dashing," he said lightly.

Leia softened into a smile. "You do," she admitted. "Respectable and important."

"Good," Luke said in relief. "That's what we're going for."

"Should Yoda and I look mishandled?" Chewie wondered aloud. "We should look like we resisted capture. Maybe you should stun me, Han."

"Then we'd have to wait a couple of hours for you to wake up," Han said.

Luke shook his head. "What a bizarre conversation." Leia flashed him a smile. She felt the same way, like their reality had become distorted, as if they had opened the door and found themselves lost in a crazy world.

"I'll mishandle you," Han smirked. He went up to Chewie and began to rub his fur in all directions, mussing it up. "But you're in Darth's custody. He'd control you with the Force." He turned to Yoda. "Wouldn't he?"

"Use the Force, he would," Yoda concurred. "Stun me, he would need."

"Ah well," Han dismissed the need to shoot the Jedi Master. "You look rumpled enough."

"Han!" Luke admonished. Yoda held up his hand to silence Luke. "Underestimate one will, the innocent appearance. Rumpled, I shall remain."

"See, Yoda knows what I mean," Han said, unperturbed. He considered Yoda with a nod, thinking the aged Jedi wasn't so bad all the time.

"I need help with this helmet," Leia interrupted. "I don't want it sealed, seeing as I have my own lungs, but I don't want it too loose, either."

Han quirked his lips to the side in thought. "We can use putty," he suggested. It had been one of the useful things he learned on one of those odd legit jobs. He'd been crew on a water ferry on Bengat. A leak had threatened to sink the boat and they had used putty as a temporary seal. Worked like a charm.

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Han and Luke stepped off the _Feathered Sands_ and headed for the Port Authority office.

"Do you speak Coruscanti?" Luke said out of the side of his mouth.

Han clasped his hands behind his back, assuming the pose of the Imperial officers he remembered. It was a stupid pose, Han thought. What if someone opened fire on him? "Yes," he answered Luke. "You don't?"

"Well," Luke copied Han's posture and stood a little off to the side, like a subordinate officer would. "I had a couple of years at school. I can say my name is Luke and ask where the bathroom is."

Han grunted. "I'll do the talking, then." They approached an office and Han entered without clearing with the reception droid first.

"You, there," Han addressed the Authority clerk. Luke noticed Han changed his tone. He sounded haughty and superior. It was a good imitation of Leia in full Princess mode. "We require His Majesty the Emperor's personal shuttle crew to the Palace. By order of Lord Vader."

Han offered a flimsi issuing the order, sealed with Vader's insignia. Leia had discovered one of his glove tips created the seal, and they had quickly fashioned some orders. Han wasn't sure it was going to work, but the Authority clerk passed it under some sort of scan, and the insignia seal was read. The name flashed on the screen: "Lord Vader. Luke breathed a sigh of relief.

The Authority clerk looked uncertain. "This is highly irregular," he told Han. "Lord Vader is here?"

"Docking Slot 3711OC," Han answered confidently. "The freighter is impounded and now in Imperial Custody. This," Han handed a second flimsi bearing Vader's seal, "is orders for a trooper guard."

The clerk didn't bother scanning the second flimsi, but Han knew the order would be filled. It was an unfortunate necessity; if they had the chance to come back and needed to flee the guard detail would be one more obstacle.

"Alright," the clerk conceded. "I'll alert a shuttle crew."

Han dismissed him with a curt nod, spun, and walked briskly out of the office. Luke followed, not as efficiently, throwing a backward glance at the clerk to be sure he wasn't going to sound an alarm, but their deception seemed to have worked.

"I think we're clear," he muttered quietly, keeping his head looking straight ahead and not at Han.

"He bought it," Han said. "We made it past Step One. Stay out here. Keep a sharp eye," he added needlessly. "I'll be out in a moment." He ducked his head to go up the ramp of the ship.

 _Well, Feathered Sands,_ Luke patted the landing thruster, _now we all have aliases._ Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Yoda stood on the gaming table, affixing dabs of putty to the neck piece of Vader's flight suit. He still wore the manacles Solo had slapped over his wrists. "Too early, did the Captain cuff us," he complained to Leia. "Difficult to apply, this putty is, in manacles."

Leia was encased in black, her brown hair piled high atop her head. She thought the difficulty was that Yoda was very short, even with standing on the gaming table. And she was much taller than usual.

"Master Yoda," Leia began. "Is a Force user able to do different things with the Dark Side?"

"What mean you?" he asked.

"Well," she began. Yoda's breath was tickling the nape of her neck. He pushed gently on her shoulder and she shifted a quarter turn, allowing him to apply putty to another portion of her neck seal. "I had a dream recently, and Palpatine was in it, and he did something I hadn't seen before."

"Do what, did he?"

"He...this sounds strange, but some kind of electricity came out of his hands." Leia held her hands up, palms down, fingers curled in demonstration.

"Done are you." Yoda sighed, closing the lid of the putty canister. "Force lightning, that is. Saw you this, in a dream?"

"Yes. Do you think it's significant?"

"Only that possibilities, your dream showed you. What up against, you are."

"So my dream was preparing me, do you think?" Leia didn't mention that her dream involved Luke strolling with Palpatine as a friend, or that Han was murdered by Force lightning. "Luke has said my dreams might be how I access the Force, before I started actively meditating. And many elements of them have come true."

Yoda nodded. "Listen to your dreams, you should."

Leia was about to assure him that she did, when Han strode up to them. His eyes swept over them both. "They're coming. Soon. Luke and I need to wait for the guard detail outside."

"Then our positions Chewbacca and I will take," Yoda said. He hopped off the table, agilely, Han thought, for someone who relied on a walking stick so much, and entered one of the concealed smuggling hatches Han had installed in the floor. Chewie growled a welcome to Yoda, a farewell to Han, and slid the compartment lid mostly closed.

Leia, unable to look Han in the eye, smoothed his lapels with her hands. With the lifts in her boots the top of her head now reached his throat instead of his chest. She got a new angle on his face. His eyes were solemn and a mottled green, matching the olive of his stolen uniform. He took Vader's helmet from the table.

"Sweetheart," Han said, putting a finger under her chin.

"Wait," Leia instructed, and he halted.

She had been in this situation before, sending troops into battle. She hadn't joined them before, but waited, watched and directed from the command center. She made sure to speak to them, to let them know how important they were to the war effort, to let them know that if they should die their sacrifice was appreciated and their service, their lives, would not be forgotten. It was an empty speech, she realized now. She loved her own life dearly, as much as each being had loved their own, and she loved the man standing in front of her fiercely. How could she tell him? How could she tell him the contents of her heart?

Han had no trouble telling her. His kiss lingered softly on her lips and his palm was warm on her cheek. "I forgot," she breathed when her eyes opened.

"Forgot what?" he asked, his face still very close to her own.

"You say it better with a kiss."

He smiled a little then, and Leia thought it was cocky, and regretful, and genuine. "Time to close you up," he told her, and lifted the helmet over her head. He pressed his palm on top of the helmet, squishing her down uncomfortably, but he wanted to be sure the putty stuck securely to the other surface. Then he gave the helmet an affectionate pat.

"Guards are here," Luke's voice came through Han's comm, which was uniform issue, and for once he was confident Han would get the message.

"Looking forward to working with you, Darth," Han whispered, and he left.

Leia heard the ramp close as Han exited, and she neared the smuggling compartment. "It's time," she said softly, and activated her own comm.

Chewie began his rhythmic song of breathing, and Yoda said in his best Force-impersonation of Darth Vader, "I will bring the prisoners out when the shuttle arrives."

The storm troopers assigned to guard the _Feathered Sands_ heard the answering message over Luke's comm. Their helmets turned to look at each other.

Luke, standing with his elbows crossed at his back and his legs splayed, watched the storm troopers. He remembered to appear superior and scornful. He was tense, apprehensive; but he was ready. "Show time," he murmured to himself.

 


	42. Chapter 42

They proceeded to the Emperor's personal transport, encircled by figures in white. Two storm troopers wearing full armor were in the rear, behind Leia's figure of Darth Vader. She kept Chewie and Yoda in front of her, and Han and Luke preceded them. Near Han walked a third ensign, not in armor but armed, and dressed all in white. Han and Luke followed two more fully armored storm troopers, who led the way to the Emperor's passenger speeder. Han worried about the two in the rear, thinking if they were observant, they might find Darth Vader's figure a bit out of the ordinary.

 _But maybe they've never seen him_ , Han thought. _Maybe this whole empire is built on rumors._

He walked stiffly at first. He was ready to spin and throw Leia to the ground at the first sign of trouble, but as they proceeded through the docking bay and only got gawked at by other pilots and mechanics, he remained watchful but loosened his stride a bit and relaxed some.

By the attention their procession received Han could tell this was an uncommon circumstance. Vader had obviously preferred to remain behind the scenes. To Han it was glaring, the ruse they were attempting to put forth. If anyone really put any thought into it, they would be easily exposed. But the beings in the docking bay seemed to accept things at face value.

The troopers stopped outside Palpatine's speeder. It was not overly large, colored a scarlet red, with the Imperial crest prominently displayed in black and white. A crowd had gathered around it, and Han heard one human instruct a child that only Imperial speeders were allowed to be red; that was law here in Imperial City. The troopers first to arrive boarded and walked to the rear. The other three stepped to the side, signifying that Han's party should board first. He followed their protocol and stepped to the other side, joined by Luke, who gestured at Yoda and Chewie that the prisoners should board first. Leia followed them, navigating the step with grace, and Han waited until she had pushed Yoda and Chewie to the rear before he and Luke followed.

 _Jabba should have outfitted his skiffs like this_ , Han reflected appreciatively. Palpatine obviously spared no expense for the transportation he provided his guests. Han had ridden the public transport here before, and it had not been a pleasant experience. The over-sized speeders were basic metal, their joists exposed and contained no insulation against heat, cold, or noise. Instead of seats, the metal walls were lined with straps attached in loops to the walls in varying heights, attempting to accommodate all the different life forms who made use of public transport. It was a noisy, jostling, smelly, and generally uncomfortable way to travel.

The Emperor's shuttle craft had a bench seat at the back, where Yoda and Chewie sat, faced by Leia. The walls were upholstered in a thick fabric, the four swivel seats cushioned and comfortable. The steering compartment was walled off and contained the lone pilot. No physical access was provided between the pilot and the cabin. Instead there was a lovely tapestry and each seat had an intercom button on the armrest.

Han took a moment to observe Leia's Darth Vader with fresh eyes, wondering if he didn't know better, would he guess that the suit was occupied by a petite princess. She wasn't as tall as Vader had been, but still the visage of the black skull-shaped helmet was an intimidating sight. These troopers knew their place and kept their distance. Vader was never someone a lowly ensign engaged in conversation. She would be unchallenged during the shuttle ride, Han decided.

The seats remained empty. Luke had moved to take a seat but Han stopped him with a small hand movement. _Don't get too comfortable, kid._ He wondered if Luke heard him think it.

If he or Luke should make a military protocol mistake, Han considered, they'd probably be able to bluff their way out of it. Laugh it off, explain how slack things got in Kwilaan.

No one spoke. The small shuttle cabin was filled with the noise of Darth Vader's breathing, provided by Chewie.

 _Furball's working hard,_ Han thought to himself. _I'm gonna have to give him a raise._

He sidled over to the ranking ensign, who stood clasping his forearms behind his back. Han kept his arms hanging loosely at his side. _So I can shoot first._ His fingers twitched at times, his only tell of the tension in the small cabin. "I could get used to riding like this," Han said conversationally to the ensign.

The trooper's eyes flicked to the side but he made no answer.

Han tried again. _Come on, Whitey. Talk to me_. "How long is the shuttle ride? City can't be that big, can it?"

The trooper's mouth opened but he did not answer.

"Come on," Han coaxed, paternally hostile. "I may be from a backwater, but I still outrank you. You should answer me."

Whitey finally spoke. "Yes, Sir. Only about twelve minutes, Sir."

"Yeah, me and Junior here," Han referred to Luke with his thumb, "we don't see nothing like this on the Kwilaan base. How long you been here?"

"Three years. Sir." Han nodded amicably. "Stay, if you can. Galaxy's a big place. Empire's almost as big, and nothing like Imperial City anywhere."

The trooper warmed slightly. "Yes, sir. Everything's here."

Leia turned her head, listening to Han turn on his charm. "Stroke of luck me and Junior are here," he continued. "To think that a Jedi was hiding on Kwilaan! I was in the right place at the right time. Lord Vader promoted me to take a vessel back. Two days ago I was just a junior commander," he chuckled, naming a rank just above his Imperial companion. He knew the unranked dreamed of that chance moment of promotion, of being a hero, discovered by superiors, rising through the ranks. "You ever worked with Lord Vader before?" Han asked.

"No, Sir," the trooper shook his head. "Well, let me tell you," Han confided. "Everything you've heard, is the gods' awful truth." _Spreading rumors. I'd like to spread a rumor Palpatine's dead._ "What he did…." his voice trailed off, leaving whatever Vader was supposed to have done up to the imagination. "He's fair," Han expounded. "Just don't disappoint, you know?" He brought his index finger up and crossed it across his throat. "There were three of us crew."

The trooper did a mental count. "Three?" he asked in a hush. "What happened to the third?"

"Went out the airlock," Han whispered. He widened his eyes and nodded meaningfully. The trooper swallowed.

Leia turned her head full-on to stare at Han with her Vader-eyes. "Oops, think I've said too much," Han pretended to gulp. "So is it true what they say about the Emperor?"

"I don't know," Whitey said with a smirk, feeling himself being given control of the conversation. "What do they say?"

"I've heard he keeps dentrodens at his feet," Han lied easily.

"Where'd you hear that?" Whitey scoffed.

"Yeah," Han continued, "and that they can smell a lie, rip your throat out."

"You backwaters," Whitey laughed at Han. "How do you even come up with stuff like that?"

Han joined in the light laughter. "You know how rumors start." He could tell the other storm troopers were straining their ears to listen.

Luke listened as Han attempted to draw out the trooper. Han kept his voice very low, and sent frequent glances toward Vader's figure, as if seeking permission to keep talking. His accent had changed again, reminding the trooper he was an outsider, and though higher in rank, out of his element here on Imperial City.

"The Emperor only has the Red Guard," Whitey informed Han.

"Red Guard? I've heard of them. Thought _they_ were a rumor."

"Elite," Whitey answered simply.

"Red, huh?" Han sent his eyes around the shuttle and the décor accented in scarlet. "Guess the Emperor likes red." Red cushions, red narrow stripe. "Elite, you say? Trained better'n you whites?"

"Yes, Sir," Whitey said, pride and awe in his voice. "You don't want to go up against them."

"They smell a lie?" Han joked. Then he got back to business. "So three years, is that all? Me, I've got eight behind me." _If I hadn't turned traitor._ "You seen any action?"

"Just the action of Imperial City," Whitey boasted.

"I bet," Han chortled affably. "Junior and me were at Hoth." _And for once I'm not lying._

Whitey's interest was piqued. "Were you now? I heard that was a scene."

"You bet it was. Can you believe we fought on the ground? Those Rebels only let off transports." Han hadn't been there during the actual battle, but he'd participated in enough evacuation drills that he had known the plan. "They didn't deploy a single fighter. Didn't have enough, I'm guessing, for taking on the Star Destroyers and all the Ties. So they sent us dirtside. Snowside, I should say. Damn cold planet."

Han eased into his story, one veteran talking to another. "I'm in transportation. That's how I got this promotion, transporting that freighter. Sweet piece of machinery, let me tell you."

Luke smiled to himself as he heard how Han couldn't help but utter a small ode to his ship. "But Hoth," Han shook his head, "I almost bought it there. My ATAT malfunctioned," he explained, trying to remember the details of the battle Luke had shared with him. "Couldn't take a step. Froze, I think. Those Rebs came at us in armed speeders, throwing bombs at us."

"No kidding? What happened?" Whitey asked, hanging on Han's story.

"Lucky for me the Rebs called a retreat! If it weren't so cold we'd have taken 'em faster. We smashed them, though. Maybe you'll see action some day, huh?" _Maybe today,_ Han snickered. "War's heating up, isn't it?"

"You got that right," Whitey answered.

Han thought he could spy the profile of the Palace in the near distance. "Is that where we're headed?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Sure is a handsome building." _Or huge_. The palace was the size of two whole city blocks, without any break in between. Han could spy no alleys, no high connected walkways; just solid building. It must have swallowed up, razed, or absorbed whatever stood there earlier.

"What's that over there?" Han pointed to a blackened spire not far from the Palace. He thought he recognized it from Yoda's sketches.

"A ruin," Whitey informed him. "Left over from the Clone Wars."

"No kidding," Han marveled. "I'd think it would've been built over."

"Emperor Palpatine won't let anyone. It's a monument now. Used to be the Jedi Temple."

Han turned his head toward Luke. "You hear that, Lieutenant Owen? That must be where our prisoner used to live."

"Yes, Sir," Luke responded. He kept the same informal tone to his speech. "I bet he did. Bit before my time," he added. The black spire broke his heart. Looking at the charred ruins brought him back to Tatooine and the ruins of his own home. It was sadistic of Palpatine to keep the tragedy of the Jedi massacre so prominently displayed. It was only a monument to himself, Palpatine's moment of victory. It was a warning to everyone else.

"Before all our time," Whitey said. All three looked at Yoda, who sat looking sullen and glum. Very much like a prisoner, Luke thought.

Han leaned over to be able to peer at Yoda. "Hey, Jedi," he taunted. "Look what happened to your home. I bet the Emperor did that himself. You'll look like that when he's through with you."

Darth Vader's voice snapped, deep and resonating. "Captain. Need I remind you to not interact with the prisoners?" Leia was looking at him, and Luke thought Chewie, Leia and Yoda were demonstrating good teamwork. Three beings to emulate one man. One to speak, one to breathe, and one to move. Would his father be proud of that? Luke wondered. Yoda's stern look was probably not an act. He would be angry with Han for daring to make light of the plight of the Jedi, even if were for show.

Han leaned his had back toward Whitey. "That hand fire stuff is true, isn't it? Heard about that," he nodded. _From Leia. You got no idea, Whitey._

"It's what they say," Whitey said. "But I haven't seen it myself."

"You got any pointers for us?" Han asked. "How do we move before the Emperor? Do we bow? Highest I've ever seen is an Admiral. Only salute them. What do we do?"

"Nothing," the trooper told him. "You won't get in to see him."

"I won't?" Han sounded disappointed. "Thought this would be the trip of trips. What about you? Do you get in?"

"No, Sir. Just Lord Vader gets an audience with Emperor Palpatine."

"Huh. Where do I wait then. See," Han shuffled a step closer to whisper more conspiratorially, "I'm angling to serve Lord Vader. Like an aide de camp, you know what I mean? I'm riding this as far as I can go. Only," Han bobbed his head twice, "I don't want to disappoint, right?" He poked his elbow in the trooper's side.

"I can take you to a break room," the Imperial offered.

"Break room?" Han screwed his face up. "Any ladies visit? You get my drift? Don't get much of that in Kwilaan either." He winked and poked the Imperial with his elbow again. Then he turned serious. "I'll wait outside. I don't want to miss when Lord Vader leaves. Will anyone shoo me off?"

"No, it'll be alright."

"Good. What about you? You waiting around?"

"No, Sir. I'm only to escort you from the dock to the Palace."

"So no company for me and Junior, eh? Well, that's alright. He and I, we play chess in our heads. That's what we'll do, right Lieutenant Owen?" Han winked at Luke.

It occurred to Luke Han was actually enjoying himself at the moment. "Yes, Sir." He nodded slowly in answer, trying to tell Han he got the import of the conversation. Leia would be inside the Emperor's chambers, alone with Chewie and Yoda, while Han and Luke were not allowed in. That was not welcome news, but at least Han had gotten the group an idea of what they faced.

The shuttle pilot brought the craft down softly on a landing pad. Han watched out the window, enjoying the state-of-the-art machinery. "It sure is a nice bird," he commented to Whitey, meaning it. He fell silent, the time for more talk passed, and they waited for the pilot to open the landing hatch. Han received a salute from Whitey and returned it, and they waited for yet another escort to lead them to the Emperor.

This one was an elite Red Guard. Luke and Han assessed him while he bowed smartly. "Lord Vader. Welcome. The Emperor is expecting you."

The guard turned and entered through a panel that had swished open. They followed, two slumped as prisoners, one striding purposefully, a seeming master of destiny, and the last two casting furtive looks about, swallowing nervously.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was like a maze. They kept going down corridors, approaching walls when suddenly it split apart, revealing another antechamber. The doors were very well camouflaged, and Han edged his finger down the opening, seeing how it was installed.

Apparently, the Emperor did not care for hard, slick surfaces. Everything was covered in fabric. It was upholstered, papered, tacked. The floors were thickly padded, woven in ornate patterns. Han's boots sank into the soft carpeting. _At least we won't make noise when we run,_ he thought.

Han gathered the interior of the palace was a circle. They were making their way along the radius, nearing the center little by little. He figured the Emperor was at the heart of the Palace. Just like he thought himself the heart of the Empire, like the former city of Coruscant was the heart of the galaxy.

They entered a room where the walls were sheathed in a red fabric, draping luxuriously down in ripples to the floor. One Red Guard stood at the center of each wall. There were no windows, but the room was lit softly with amber lights recessed into the ceiling.

The Red Guard escort signaled a door to slip open and he stood aside for Vader to pass. He blocked Luke and Han from entering.

"Just Lord Vader," he menaced.

"Easy," Han backed off, holding his palms up. "First time to the Palace. You need a sign on the door, 'Palpatine's office.'" He and Luke watched in helpless frustration as Chewie, Yoda and Leia disappeared in side.

Once again Han found himself inside a palace. This one was much bigger. The first one held a crime lord and this one had an emperor. Instead of violent beasts this one employed highly trained combatants. He's been alone at Jabba's but now he was a member of a team. _Movin' up in the world_.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Luke stood very close to Han, their boot toes almost touching. He spoke without moving his lips, his eyes full of urgency. "I've got to get in there," he said in as low a voice as he could manage, keeping away from the earshot of the four Red Guards in the room.

Han acknowledged Luke's fears with a microscopic nod, then in show for the Guards, he clapped a hand on Luke's shoulder and announced heartily, "Patience, Junior. We'll eat soon as his Lord Vader is done." He assumed his officer pose again, hands clasped behind his back, and sauntered along the wall. He reached his fingers out towards the wall, and checked for a reaction from the Guards. They made no move to stop him, so he continued to explore the fabric. It was cool to the touch, and gleamed with an inner light. _Where are you, door?_

"You guys just stand here all day?" Han asked a guard. "Seems a waste of training." Nobody commented but he noticed a fist clench. He smirked to himself. _Hit a sore spot. I'd be bored, too._ He made a circuit around the room, idly fingering red walls but determining three doors in all. _Now how do I open you? Is there a control panel hidden here somewhere?_

"Hey," he called to the Red Guard he had decided to nickname North. "Where's the 'fresher? I gotta take a piss."

Red Guards North and East exchanged glances, and then East sullenly moved towards the second door Han had discovered. East merely stood in front of it and it opened. _Interesting_ , Han thought. East followed him out.

"You gotta watch me in the 'fresher?" Han asked. "Or I need you to open the door again?" East remained silent. _Rude little buggers_. Han was led out to a spacious room, what he figured must be a waiting room for guests in line for an audience with the Emperor. This room was heavily furnished, again with sumptuous fabrics, pillows, and poufs. There was also a stack of reading flimsis. He locked himself in the 'fresher and stood, thinking.

He emerged a moment later, with no fresh ideas. "Why can't we stay in here?" Han asked East. "This room is nice." Again he received no answer but an impatient gesture to rejoin East. Han waited and watched carefully again as the door opened for East. "Hey, Owen," he called to Luke. "Take a 'fresher break."

"Yes, Sir," Luke agreed. "I should take advantage while it's quiet."

"Good idea," Han answered with an amused grunt. He made another patrol of the walls, this time looking for a control panel, or some kind of override.

Luke followed East to the same waiting room, taking careful note of his surroundings. What little he had seen of the city and Palace was very illuminating. The Emperor was twisted, comfortable, soft.

When Luke was brought back in by East, Han waited in feigned nonchalance for Luke to rejoin him. Not bothering to lower his voice, he said "That's North, South, East and West," he introduced, gesturing with his chin to each wall and the Guards standing against it.

Luke pursed his lips. "The wind blows north and east," he answered.

"I'll miss looking west at that Kwilaan sunset," Han remarked.

"Me, too. Which way does the sun set on Imperial City?" Luke asked.

"Haven't seen the damn sun," Han said sourly. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There was a myth told on Alderaan, Leia remembered, as she approached the Emperor.

A demon had taken over a tutor's body, with the goal of defeating a student. The demon knew of a prophecy that foretold its death at the hands of a mortal, now the student, and it was endeavoring to tempt fate by killing the mortal years before he would grow into a hero.

The mortal questioned his tutor as they interacted during studies, asking why the tutor's eyes gleamed, his fists curled, and finally why his mouth sneered. The demon answered that allergies caused his eyes to water, that the cold caused his bones to cramp, and that knowledge made him hungry. The mortal answered suddenly that mortals become sated with knowledge, and he struck the demon down and killed it.

 _Our situations are reversed_ , Leia thought. _I am the mortal who must confront the demon, and I must not let him know I have taken over another's body_.

She walked at an angle to the Emperor's line of vision, and near Yoda. He was so short she hoped that she would look taller.

The Emperor was nauseatingly ugly. Deep creases folded his face. The pallor of his skin was gray-white, his teeth yellowed. His face was marked hideous by more than just physical features. He wore his soul on the outside, Leia thought. All the evil and conceit and madness concealed any humanity he may have once claimed.

Leia approached swiftly, and immediately knelt, again disguising her height.

"My Master," Yoda took over for her. Beside him Chewie had never faltered singing the rhythm with the second larynx.

"Lord Vader," Palpatine sounded surprised. Leia's heart skipped a beat. She feared Yoda's Force-shield wasn't enough to prevent Palpatine from discovering their deception. "Did you locate your son?"

Leia was glad for her helmet. Palpatine's voice was jeering, cruel, sardonic. His voice sounded like phlegm and for the merest moment she pitied Anakin Skywalker, having to kneel like this and listen as his master belittled his existence.

"I did," Yoda answered. He was brilliant, Leia decided. She could look at him sidelong through her helmet and she had no idea that the words were emanating from him. "He was being trained in the ways of the Force. He is now a Jedi."

"Is he?" Palpatine questioned, almost cackling. "Then he must die. I will no longer suffer Jedi in my Empire."

"Yes, Master. But my son escaped. I have brought you his Master, Yoda."

"Yes, I recognize him." Palpatine rose from his seat, his full robes cloaking him in darkness. "Master Yoda," Palpatine said with cruel humor. "The last time we met was not satisfying, for either of us. For you failed to kill me as I failed to kill you." He circled Yoda, like a predator looking for an opening.

Yoda cleared his throat. "Then fail today, one will be sure not to," he said.

"I have not failed since that day." He paused to let his words register, then addressed Vader again. "What is this…..creature?" Palpatine asked with evident disgust.

"A Wookiee, my Master," Yoda again took up the voice of Darth Vader. "He has been helping Yoda. I found them on Kwilaan and boarded their vessel to bring it here."

Chewie saw how uncomfortable Palpatine was with his species and decided to make the most of it. He rumbled curses, unintelligible to Palpatine, and spat, his fangs showing.

Leia saw how Palpatine's face contorted in revulsion. He worked his hands, fingers flexing.

_Master, why do your fists curl?_

The Emperor lifted his hands and jolted Chewie with Force lightning.

Leia barely caught herself. She almost stood, almost cried out, but felt a steadying pressure from Yoda's Force sense, and wobbled back to position, breathing heavily.

Chewie had been unable to not voice his pain, and let out a yell. He fell over on his side, his fur smoking. Leia smelled it even with her helmet on, but she could see his chest heaving and was relieved to know that he was at least alive. _Han's going to kill me,_ she thought.

"You have been very industrious, Lord Vader," Palpatine complimented with irony. Then his voice snapped like a whip. "Yet you let the boy escape."

"I will find my son," Yoda said in his Vader-voice. "I will complete his training in the Dark Side of the Force."

"Or you will kill him." Palpatine must have noticed in earlier conversations that Vader had mixed feelings about his son serving by the Emperor's side, Leia realized. He pushed Vader with a cruel insistence.

"Yes, my Master," Yoda said, a hint of insolence in his voice.

"I sense...something different about you, Lord Vader," Palpatine said.

 _Master, why do your eyes gleam so?_ Leia braced herself for a killing blow.

"I confess," Yoda began slowly. He didn't think he had anything to lose at this point if he spoke truthfully for Anakin. "I have been thinking of my son. Of Padme. Of the past."

"Ah," Palpatine chuckled. "Your lost family."

"Yes, my Master. I know Anakin Skywalker is lost. But Vader was promised a family. " "We are at war," Palpatine snapped. "There is no time for family." He paused a moment, taking in Vader's prostrate and obeisant form. "Even Master Yoda knows one who serves the Force must sacrifice emotional ties. Isn't that so, Master Yoda?"

Yoda cleared his throat again, making the transition between the two personalities he represented. "Changed my mind have I," he told Palpatine. "If, resurrect the Order I were, allow love and families would I. Lived with others did I. Trained, yes, but shared meals and laughed. Loved, did I, the ones in the Temple."

Leia wished she could console Yoda. She heard the grief in his voice, how he realized he was too late. He could not save anyone.

"You are a fool, Master Yoda," Palpatine's lips twisted.

_Master, why does your mouth sneer so?_

"Lord Vader, do you have any feelings for Yoda?" Palpatine asked.

Yoda was silent a moment. "Yoda is a Jedi," he began. "He betrayed the Republic. And you, my Master."

"Yes, but when you knew him at the Temple, Lord Vader. When you were in the Jedi order," he pushed. "How did you feel about him?"

Leia felt an energy building in the room, stemming from the presence of the Emperor.

Yoda thought back to the time when he knew Anakin Skywalker as a young man. "He did not like me," Yoda answered sullenly.

"Yes, I remember," Palpatine said gleefully. "Do you recall he never wanted you at the Temple? He thought your life was best lived out as a slave on Tatooine."

 _He's trying to stir the waters,_ Leia realized. _Make Vader react with the Dark Side_.

 _Be ready,_ she heard Yoda say in her head.

"Remember how he did not trust you? How he overlooked you? How he did not recognize your power?" Palpatine goaded.

"I hated him," Yoda said loudly, and Leia rose. She could listen no longer. She and Yoda continued to act as a team. Neither were armed. Luke had given Vader's light saber to the desert, and Yoda could not carry his as a prisoner. But they had the Force.

Yoda caused a large plush chair to hurtle toward the air at the Red Guard in the room. Chewie joined the fray, throwing off his burns, and attacked the Red Guard, who brandished a long, charged staff. Yoda held his hand out and held Palpatine in a choke hold, just as he felt one close over his own windpipe.

 _Luke!_ Leia yelled to him through the Force. _Now_!

She started to run in the direction she had entered the room, trying to keep an eye on Chewie and Yoda and their battles, and not realizing the door was completely camouflaged as wall. Desperately she groped the fabric walls, seeking the way to let Han and Luke in. Just then all the lights went out and the room was encompassed in darkness.

 


	43. Chapter 43

Everything went black.

Han swore.

Luke stood where he was before the lights went out, trying to understand what had happened. "Who turned out the lights?" he said into the darkness.

He heard Han swear again. Luke couldn't see him but he could tell his voice came from the floor.

The Force was coming at Luke from all directions, and he took a moment to steady himself. It was usually a quiet companion when he studied or meditated. Now he was in a dark room, which heightened all his senses; he was with a very worried friend and that worry distracted him because it reminded him he wanted to worry as well. The Force was ricocheting off the walls, whirling around him, threatening to trip him.

He had learned it would show him things if he looked, and now it was revealing all and nothing. It showed him the physical and the fateful. He saw where he was; where all his companions were. It showed him how his destiny lay entwined with each and every one of them. The Force was flexible; yielding. It showed the many different paths his destiny could take with them. He could choose one way and be done with them, or he could walk beside them a while longer. At the moment he was indelibly cut off from each of them except Han.

"Where are you?" Luke sought Han. He started moving where he thought he'd heard Han last.

"Watch it." Han's voice was gruff but oddly reassuring. It was the one constant: something Luke knew before the lights went out but now in the dark it was easily recognizable. Han sounded irritated; not just with their situation but also with Luke. _He thinks I'm talking too much_ , Luke said to himself.

The Red Guards were talking as well, the sudden darkness also taking them by surprise. Luke could hear one calling into a comm unit, requesting a systems check.

For now there was a deceptive rationale, as if the Red Guards and Luke and Han had been thrown into a situation together. It changed how they were in the room. Before, in the revealing amber light, Han and Luke were in the company of Lord Vader. They were to wait in this chamber, and they were to be guarded. The darkness had leveled the playing field and made them equals. It was all of them against the darkness. Just temporarily, Luke thought. _When they get it sorted out we're in trouble._

A hand grasped Luke's ankle.

"Get down here," Han hissed. "Soon as they get no answer they'll probably start shooting."

Luke squatted down, and Han's rough hand on his head flattened him the rest of way to the floor. "Surely they know we couldn't have done it," Luke defended themselves.

"They know nothing, and beings with guns who know nothing start shooting," Han answered.

That was the fundamental difference between himself and Han, Luke mused. Someday, he thought, when he had more time, he would really sit down and think about it. Han expected things to sour. He was always prepared with a reaction and lost no time about it. As soon as the lights went out he was on the floor, gun probably in hand. Luke tended to process the information a turn in events provided, seeking to work the change to his advantage. Neither was the better or worse, he decided. They both were still alive, and in fact because of their differences they made a good team. They watched out for each other.

Luke felt the need to speak again. "Do you think Yoda did it?" he asked. He heard the Red Guards mention the names Lt. Owen and Capt. Nuro into their comms. _Uh-oh. Background checks_.

"Ssh," Han commanded, but he didn't listen to his own orders. "Either him or Palpatine. Do you think he did?"

Luke sought out Yoda's presence. "He's….busy." It was the first word that popped into his head, and it described what he sensed adequately. "I can't tell if he's fighting, or triumphant. Maybe he did it. He's got a lot on his mind, that's all I can sense, but he's always been hard to read."

"What about the others?"

"Chewie is furious. Pure fury."

"So they're fighting," Han concluded.

"Yeah." The intensity of the Wookiee's emotion was impressive. "And Leia is-"

"Is she alright?"

"I think so. She's looking for us."

"Kwilaan Captain and Lieutenant," a Red Guard ordered. "Show yourselves."

"Did they move closer together?" Han asked.

He was asking about the guards. Luke closed his eyes, to stop seeing the darkness and to get a Force sense of the beings in the room. "Two did," he nodded to Han, though Han would be unable to see his head move.

"There's no furniture in here. Nowhere to hide." Han's voice was grim. "Where are the other two?"

"You are to be taken into custody," a Red Guard informed the darkness.

"Ha, good one," Han muttered, but not loud enough for the Red Guard's ears. "We don't have much time."

Luke and Han continued to whisper in a frantic, hurried conversation.

"We don't want East's door," Luke said. "That was that waiting room." "Right. And North was how we came in. West didn't have a door."

"So we want South," Luke concluded.

"Surrender and you will not be harmed," a Red Guard demanded.

"Did you find a control panel earlier?" Luke asked Han. "Something you can hot wire?"

"No. And the doors use some kind of ID sensor. They won't open for us," Han said. "But I bet Darth will be able to open any of these doors."

"If she can get to one. And I don't think we should wait for her, if things are going to heat up in here like you say. We don't know what's going on in there."

"Right." Han clasped the sides of Luke's head and forcefully pointed it in a direction. "Tell me if I got disoriented. Was that South's wall?"

"Yeah, I think so. Only because I sense the others behind it. There's a guard at it, though. How come none of them is going in to check on the Emperor?"

"This is a public room. Probably sealed off. It's possible there's another door that just lets employee Red Guards into the Emperor's chambers."

"Great. Just what everybody needs. Would we hear an alarm?"

"Not likely. It'd be internal. Just be ready," Han advised. "Wait for their light."

"What light? What are you going to do?" Now it was Luke's turn to let irritation crawl into his voice. Han might get annoyed because Luke talked at inopportune times, but Han had an infuriating habit of expecting everyone to react correctly to his plan, when he never told anyone what it was.

Luke heard a rustle, and the air cooled, and he knew Han had left his side. "Han!" he hissed.

"In the name of the Emperor, you are under arrest!" a Red Guard announced.

 _Well_ , Luke said to himself. He stood. _We either failed the background check or the Emperor sounded an alarm._

The room lit up with flashes of red. _Blaster fire_ , Luke noted. It was interesting to see it in total darkness.

"The Emperor's dead, assholes," Luke heard a voice shout.

That was Han. Luke watched the red lights burst into existence, just appear out of thin air, and stream in a straight line, for just a short distance. Then as suddenly as it had erupted the red line would disappear, as the energy was spent. _Han was right,_ was Luke's first thought. _They started shooting_.

His senses were alive. He smelled the discharge, watched the red beams explode, and heard harsh breathing everywhere. Then his thoughts finally broke past his senses. _The room lit up. 'Be ready for their light'._

He pulled out his gun, and waited for another flash of red. _There!_ He fired, and heard a thud as a body dropped to the floor. _I just hope that wasn't Han_. Luke dropped and rolled, trying to hide where his own shot had come from, and was glad he did, as blaster fire accurately pierced the air where he'd been standing a moment ago. He wanted to shout Han's name, but didn't want to give away his location, so he kept quiet. He heard more noises, different ones; the smack of skin, grunts. Then another flash of red, but a short beam, as if it didn't have far to travel before it found its target, and then another groan.

 _One down. Maybe two._ Luke counted. _Where're the others?_ More red lights, these ones not coming from the same place, yet somehow the same point of origin. _Oh, very good,_ Luke thought. This Red Guard was exhibiting his training. The red light continued to spurt rapidly. _He's moving,_ Luke observed. _I need to predict the path._ If he didn't very likely a lethal line was going to connect with his body.

The blaster fire was coming too quick; moving too fast. He couldn't keep track of it with his eyes. He stopped watching the lights and closed his eyes, honing in instead on the Red Guard firing the blaster. The Force showed him the Guard was moving in a zigzag pattern, very predictable after all. Luke could even count his steps. Eight to the left; six to the right. Eight to the – he fired on step three and a body grunted and fell.

"Luke?" Han called. He sounded out of breath and strained.

 _Two guards left. Maybe one, if I heard right. Careful, Han._ Luke removed his lightsaber he had tucked out of view from his inner jacket pocket and ignited it. The blue laser radiated an aura around him and he could make out Han holding one of the Red Guards, his arms around the Guard's chest. The Guard was slumped, either unconscious or dead, and Han was laboriously dragging him.

"I got South," Han puffed. "Or East. Not sure who."

Luke slashed his saber and deflected a blaster bolt. Once again he was rewarded with the sound of a body hitting the ground.

"That's all of them," Luke announced quietly.

"Your practice paid off," Han said. From the blue light of his lightsaber Luke saw Han actually looked impressed. He also had a bloody nose.

"Thanks," Luke said. "Find the door," Han directed. "The fabric has a weighted hem at each side of the panel."

Luke felt among the pleats of fabric that lined the walls.

"Hurry up," Han said. "This guy's no lightweight."

"Is he dead?" Luke asked warily. "Yeah. Think so. Mostly, anyway. He still has his face. Wasn't sure if that's what the ID sensor uses."

"I wonder if each Guard had their own door."

"That's why I went after South," Han agreed.

 _Team Nuro Owen strikes again,_ Luke thought. "It's gotta be – here it is," Luke triumphed. He moved aside as Han stepped before the panel. He hoisted the dead Guard higher from under the armpits and leaned back so that the back of the Guard's head rested on Han's face and blocked it from the door sensor.

Han let the body drop. Luke wasn't sure if Han was just done holding it, or it was a way of expressing what they were encountering on the other side of the threshold as the door slid open.

It was dark in there too, and yet neither needed the Force to see that Yoda, Leia and Chewie were under attack, and from just one being: the Emperor.

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Arcs of brilliant electricity lit the room like silver fireworks. The Emperor had the luxury of standing still, sending the power of his Force separating into branched segment after branched segment that reached in long lines to wherever he aimed it. Light would flare briefly, brightly, making them wince and squint and turn their faces away.

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"Impostors," the Emperor growled. He turned his Force lightning on Yoda. "You defeated Lord Vader." Yoda took the lightning with a painful grimace, compacting it carefully in his hands, rolling it into a sphere. "Killed him, the Dark Side did," Yoda answered frankly. "As kill you it will, too."

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Leia moved about on her own while Yoda battled Palpatine. Carefully, she navigated the perimeter of the room. She was here, and all hells had broken loose. What about Luke and Han, she wondered? What were they encountering? It was the not knowing that bothered her more than anything. She knew what she was up against, and she would handle it. But them, what was happening to them?

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Yoda knew what needed to be done. It was just a matter of being able to do it. He had risen to challenge the Emperor. He worked to keep Chewbacca and Leia safe, and waited for Luke and Solo to join them. He knew what needed to be done, but he knew to wait.

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Not all trees rose to the canopy, strong and thick. The early years were telling, when a seedling fought for light, for water, for nourishment. When a seedling fought to break out from all the others striving for the same thing.

The winds could bend a stripling and cripple it, never to know the warmth of the sun on it. It could survive, but gnarled, twisted; enduring the contempt of its superiors.

Lightning was something all trees quivered before, even the tallest, stoutest. It took without mercy, cruel in its randomness.

Such had been slavery for Chewbacca the Wookiee.

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"I am more powerful than you have ever dreamed of being," the Emperor raged.

"True, that is," Yoda acknowledged. "But dream have I not. Only need."

"I will reduce you to ashes!"

"Return us to the Force is all you will accomplish."

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Leia ducked under the flowing cloth covering the wall. The darkness did nothing to conceal her, any of them. They were exposed, laid bare before evil. Palpatine's madness was the only thing that saved them from instant death. He was furious at them for their audacity. But it had given him pause, she knew. He needed to understand; wanted to know how three beings, two obviously non-humans, had managed to manipulate events without his knowledge or consent. He would toy with them. He would rage at them. He needed their pain and their fear. In their last moments he would be more powerful than even _he_ had ever dreamed.

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"Who dares wear Lord Vader's helmet?" the Emperor wondered as he stalked Yoda. He cackled as a thought struck him. "Did the son of Skywalker take up his father's mantle?" His face turned even uglier. "Did you kill him, son of Skywalker, only to become him?"

Leia made no answer. _Let him think I'm Luke_. The longer he didn't understand something, the weaker he became.

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The word for lightning in Shyriiwook literally translated as reducer. Variations of the word abounded in Shyriiwook. It made up part of the word for drought, famine, even weight loss. But Han had never mistranslated it, Chewie remembered. When they first met, Han's eyes would gaze around him, taking in the speech of the Wookiee and applying it at everything that lay before him. He learned Shyriiwook physically, as was his way, and thus he learned a language that eluded most humans.

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Luke and Han were here; Leia sensed it more than saw it. _How do I know?_ she wondered idly. It wasn't something her eyes told her; though perhaps a sliver of light changed as a door opened. It wasn't her hearing because they did not step in any further and they did not speak. She was along the wrong wall, and she was too far away to touch or even feel their body heat. But she knew it was them. She knew in her heart. _My sixth sense. Was that the Force?_ In a room full of anger, hate, brutality and evil, she knew joy.

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Chewie waited in disdain for another pair of Red Guards to attempt entry.

Their training had been greatly exaggerated, he thought. There was little challenge to them; certainly not at all like warring with another Wookiee tribe.

This was a great day. His spirits soared as his huge hairy arms reached out and bashed the skulls of two Red Guards against each other.

Would they learn to regroup? Would they try to be a real help to their Emperor? Perhaps they felt he didn't need their help. Force lightning was everywhere; everything was a target; even his own people. No one was safe. Not even the Emperor's Guards. Perhaps their loyalty was wavering.

He waited patiently for the Emperor. Palpatine alternately talked, baiting, taunting, raging at Yoda; or he threw lightning, and that is when Chewie acted. He picked up a body of a Red Guard and threw it in his master's Force lightning.

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The light was too painful if one looked straight at it, so Luke moved his eyes everywhere but at it. Yoda, Chewie, and Leia had separated. He located each one, felt their determination. He sensed they were thinking of each other, thinking of him and of Han.

 _I need to pull us all together. We're more powerful as a group_.

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From the corner of his eye, Yoda saw Luke's blue lightsaber. Force lightning flared, and still the color burned as bright.

It was time.

 _Obi Wan_ ,Yoda thought to his friend. _We unmuddy the waters_.

Destiny was upon him. What would happen after, he did not know. But for the first time in a long time, he felt he had prepared his students well.

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"So this is the son of Skywalker," the Emperor sneered.

"Yes," Luke answered defiantly.

"Come to join your father?"

"Yes," he said with the same defiance.

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"Shoot him!" Leia cried.

There was no turning back. It was all out in the open. Brave, idealistic Luke.

Armies didn't matter, armadas counted for nothing. It was the Force, only.

Light Side versus Dark Side. The Force was at war.

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"Reveal yourself," the Emperor snapped at Leia.

 _No_ , she hurled at him with the Force.

His eyes widened in surprise.

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Han fired his gun before Leia even finished speaking. It was all he could offer. This was beyond him, this lightning, this evil. He hoped to never see anything like it ever again. If it killed him, he wouldn't.

He fired, and the blaster let loose a shot that traveled straight and true toward the Emperor.

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"I snap your necks like twigs!" Chewie roared at the Red Guards. To them, his noise was unintelligible; animalistic. To Chewie it was great fun. He talked constantly, spewing Wookiee adages, bits of wisdom and curses. The Red Guards heard his language as a display of animal ferocity as much as his strength, fangs and claws was. But to Chewie it was communication; one being saying something to another, and they only revealed their ignorance.

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The Emperor raised a gnarled hand, meeting Han's eyes with malicious glee. His palm absorbed the blaster bolt and he smiled. There was no wound, no blood, no hole. No evidence he'd been shot.

Han took a step forward, trying to catch the gun that had slipped microns from his hand. He curled his fingers more tightly around the handle, but again, the gun seemed to move on its own.

He strove to maintain his grip when suddenly it just left him; sailed across the room into the Emperor's waiting hand.

"Impostor," the Emperor declared again. His fingers flexed, drawing the power of the Force again into his hands.

"Han, watch out!" Leia cried. She threw herself towards him.

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"You smile, Master Yoda," the Emperor said.

Yoda nodded, throwing a sphere of lightning he had collected back at Palpatine. It would be evaded, he knew that, but it served to distract and that was enough. "Relieved I am," he told the Emperor.

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Chewie saw he would be unable to reach Han before the Force lightning struck. _I cannot fail my Life's Work today. It has been my best day, since the day he freed me from bondage._

He watched as Leia turned to take the Lightning for Han.

 _She watches for him as much as I do_.

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"Skywalker," the Emperor announced for all to hear. "Feel my power. I hold this entire room at bay. The Dark Side gives you all you desire."

"I've seen enough of what it can do," Luke hollered out.

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 _I can save him_ , Leia told herself. _I did once in a dream. I protected him with my love._

Her body collided hard with Han's and they both fell to the ground as lightning struck where they had been standing.

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"It can give you the galaxy," Palpatine told him with measured awe. "Join me, join the Dark Side, and the galaxy is yours, Skywalker."

"You didn't share it very well with my father," Luke spat.

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. She rolled over, coughing. It had been so clear in the dream. Love would save. There was a terrible smell.

_Who will save me?_

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"Ignore him," Yoda advised Luke. "Speak with you all, must I. Need you and the Princess do I. But to my plan just as important are Chewbacca and Solo."

Luke nodded, his gaze never leaving Leia and Han. He had been in the wrong place. The Emperor wanted him, but struck at those he cared about. That had happened before.

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Her eyes watered and she coughed again. There was weight on top of her and in the gleam from more of the Emperor's lightning she could see Han's face was worried and white.

"Darth," he gasped, his voice an urgent plea.

His hands were around her helmet, and he jerked her neck up roughly several times.

 _He's alive. Thank the Force he's alive. Am I? Or am I dying?_ She could see Han, and she could see the outlines of the room when the lightning revealed it, and she could hear Chewie's bellows, Yoda's silence, Luke's determination. _I'm on fire. But I'm alive._ She wanted to ask Han if it was like this for him when he lay dying.

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Was that the kind of man he was? One who wore his heart on his sleeve? Was it so obvious? Was it a weakness?

Yoda was beside him, urging control. He did not say to suppress, process; just urged him to stay in control.

"I see through you!" Luke shouted to the Emperor. You only serve yourself!"

Evidently, that was the kind of man he was.

He made his way to his friends.

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"Get out of the way!" Luke shouted, almost springing on top of Han and readying his lightsaber to deflect lightning.

Han reacted instantly, as Luke knew he would. He threw himself on top of Leia and rolled her away.

With each roll she heard Han say her name, _Leia_ , as if it gave him the strength and energy to move. She smiled into her smelly, smokey helmet while she rolled over and over, sometimes her body on top of his, and then suddenly the hard floor would bruise her shoulders as his weight pushed her down and he said her name. _He loves me. Save me, Han._

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"Chewie!" Han yelled urgently. "Help me with this."

Leia felt more rough pulls on her neck. "Ow," she said. "You're going to pull my head off!" she cried. _I'm not dying. I wouldn't be yelling at them if I were_.

"Not your head, Sweetheart." There was a popping noise, and the putty seal was broken.

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"Your father was my apprentice," Palpatine told Luke from across the room. "He never rose to the heights I feel you can. You are much stronger than he was."

"I'm startin' to feel sorry for Vader," Han remarked.

"Your lightsaber must you to Solo give," Yoda told Luke.

"But Master Yoda," Luke began to protest, "Han isn't tr-"

"Necessary it is, for our plan to work."

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Leia gulped bushels of air. Her throat felt raw. Luke patted her head and little puffs of smoke wafted out.

"It went through the helmet," Han told her, and handed her Vader's helmet.

Leia touched the headpiece, tracing the melted and distorted duroplast, the jagged hole. She gave it back to Han and felt around the top of her head. Her hair, what remained of the carefully arranged pile, was singed. It fell around her shoulders in complete disarray, in differing lengths, the middle portion broken and burnt. It smelled terrible.

"Your hair took the hit," Han said.

She gaped at them, the moment seeming to last forever until they were forced to take cover around a table that Chewie had flipped over.

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The Red Guards stopped coming through the door.

Palpatine waited for Yoda to make his next move. It would involve the Force. It wasn't anything a Red Guard could prevent.

Palpatine recognized this was an important fight. He was not taking it lightly. But he was not worried. Even the loss of Lord Vader did not shake his foundation.

"Master Yoda," he taunted. "I can see why you collected Skywalker, but these other three? Only one is a human male!"

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They were finally together.

"Quickly, must I speak," Yoda quieted them. "Need you, do I, Princess and Luke. Your abilities. Work together, we must. Draw Palpatine's attention, will Solo and Chewbacca." Yoda turned to Han. "Luke's lightsaber take. Duel you will not. Deflect the lightning, you will be able."

"I will?" Han questioned.

"Hold the lightning back, can the blade," Yoda instructed. "A strong fighting stance you must keep."

"Will he suck the blade out of my hand like he did my gun?" Han asked.

"A Jedi's accessory, is the blade. A tool of the Force. A gun means nothing to the Force."

"I don't have the Force," Han reminded him.

Yoda pointed at Luke. "Luke's accessory, that is. Serve the Light, does Luke. Act for Luke will the blade."

"Even with me holding it," Han said dubiously.

"Even with you," Yoda sighed.

Luke took a careful glance around before he stood and handed over his lightsaber. "Here, Han. Hold it like this," he demonstrated for Han, "and just – just, be careful with it, okay?"

Chewie jumped up and stepped into the path of lightning. His adrenalin was on overdrive and he was invigorated by the fight. "The Dark Side enslave you!" he roared. He ducked and rolled, holding out a cushion from a chair. Palpatine reduced it to nothing.

Han also emerged from the safety of Yoda's huddle. "Just don't take too long," he told them.

Leia and Luke watched worriedly as lightning hurtled toward Han.

"Hold the blade out!" Luke instructed.

"Focus on him you must not," Yoda told them, but he too stared at Han's first attempt to deflect Force lightning. Han held the saber to his right, arms out. He bent his knees, centering his weight around his core, and when the lightning hit the blade he was knocked back a few steps but he managed to keep his balance.

Leia let out a breath she was holding.

"A danger it is for them," Yoda said, acknowledging the twins' fear, "but more important it is for us to defeat Palpatine. Allow that, for us, do they."

Reluctantly, Leia returned her eyes to Master Yoda. "What do you need us to do?"

"Overpower the Emperor we must. With the Force is it the only way. We must combine our Force strengths."

"But neither of us has any weapons, now that you gave Han my lightsaber," Luke said. "How are we going to overpower him? We can't even do lightning, can we?"

"Call onto the Force we will."

"But how is that any different than what we're doing now?" Luke wondered.

"Said so yourself, see the Emperor's fall would your father have liked."

"Yeah, so..."

Yoda smiled mischievously. "Call him."

"Call..."

"Summon the Force, we shall. All that is, was, we can bring. Energy is the Force. Our friends, ones long gone, once users of the Force, are now the Force. Solve our problem they will."

Leia was looking at Luke, wondering if he was coming to the same conclusion. "You mean," she started hesitantly, but remembering, "like General Kenobi? Force spirits?"

Luke was thunderstruck. "It's brilliant," he said slowly. "Ever since you and Ben told me I'm the last Jedi, I've felt...alone. Isolated. Like everything falls on my shoulders. But it's not quite like that." He looked at Yoda. "Is it? I wonder what it will be like for him, to see he never managed to fully kill the Jedi."

"Find out, shall we?" Yoda grinned. He felt complete. Behind him, Solo and Chewie were racing around, hollering and tormenting the Emperor. So far they had managed to stay out of harm's way. For non-Force users, their spirit was indomitable. "Let us get to work."

 


	44. Chapter 44

Leia looked to Luke for assurance. His face, what she could see in the flares of Force lightning, was serene.

 _He's so certain,_ she thought. _Right from the beginning he's been so accepting_. She needed to be like him right now. She wished she could be.

 _What about Han?_ she wanted to ask him. _You've given him your lightsaber, you put him on the front lines._

She knew what he would answer. _We have to._

 _Do we though?_ Han and Chewie were taking the heat of the Emperor's wrath right now, waiting for whatever Yoda dreamed up as a plan. She and Luke sat safely with Yoda.

 _And,_ Luke would add, _and Han wants to._

_Dreamed up._

She glanced at Luke again and saw Han moving out of the corner of her eye; heard him and Chewie yelling. They weren't yelling in fear or pain; they were...insulting the Emperor. Her lips tugged into a bitter smile. _Those two_.

She had dreamed of many things since embarking on this journey. Her dreams had told her so much. She had learned Vader was her father, yes; but she also learned she was the best weapon to destroy him. The knowledge had been given from Han in her dreams, and it could not have told the truth more gently. She had discovered love, family, friendship. She had learned her strengths and her weaknesses.

She needed to trust the Force. Now. There was no time for her to dream.

Han seemed to trust it. No, she corrected herself. Han trusted Luke and Yoda. Still, it seemed an incongruity.

He had been scornful of the Force when they first met him. As he continued his association with the Rebellion and his friendship with Luke grew, Han grudgingly acknowledged the memory of the Jedi, but he still never professed much faith in their actual ability. He treated it all as some myth; a legend that grew with the passage of time.

But the Force had played a hand in his rescue from Jabba's clutches, and there was no denying the changes in Luke. Certainly no denying the lightning coming from the Emperor's hand, for that matter.

The Force had helped them all reunite. That was why Han was out there right now wielding Luke's lightsaber. _He's grateful_ , Leia realized. The Force didn't tell Han anything but he knew his friends had used it to find him. If it hadn't been for the Force, he would never know what he had. He was out there, risking his life for them, out of gratitude.

The old Han would have repaid them all, proclaimed his own sort of Life Debt, as a commemoration of the sacrifices they made for Han's rescue. Leia could imagine the scenario clearly; it was a part of him she understood early on. He would have stayed with the Rebellion, not charging them for his services but never officially joining either. He would have gone on missions with them, protected them, but as soon as he felt he'd matched their sacrifices, he would have left. Washed his hands of them, jetted off, satisfied, never needing to see them again, perplexed at their anger, not understanding what he left behind.

This was different. This wasn't a debt. He wasn't repaying. He was committing. With Han, actions always spoke more strongly than words. By swinging a lightsaber he was pledging himself to them. He was theirs and they were his.

 _Thank the Force_ , she thought. It was an overused expression but at the moment she meant it with every fiber of her being. Her thoughts reminded her she needed to focus. She peered at Luke guiltily. His eyes were closed, his breathing so deep and unperturbed no matter what was going around him. _Like the very first time we meditated together._

He had brought her here. She wouldn't have anything without him; no love, family, or friendship. It was the same for Han. _Luke is powerful._ In the back of her mind she continued to hear Han hollering, doing what he did best, being a loyal friend. He was totally in the here and now, and he was doing it because Luke asked him to. _Present is he_.

She grasped at something, some comprehension, but then it slipped away.

She took a deep breath and straightened with purpose. _I call upon the Force…_.How did one bring a Force spirit? She hadn't known any Jedi. She'd only met General Kenobi as a Force spirit, and her father wasn't someone with whom she willingly wanted to communicate right now.

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Han squinted against the glare, holding his arms steady and bracing himself with the lightsaber against the Emperor's lightning. Chewie circled around him, coming at the Emperor from different directions, throwing things and breaking the electric arc's concentration. Even in the dark Han was out in the open, Luke's blue lightsaber announcing his presence. Arcs of electricity splashed off the lightsaber onto his hair, skin and clothing, and left smoldering holes, but in all, for now, he and Chewie were managing to hold their own.

Han's eyes flicked to the burning table where Yoda had gathered Luke and Leia. Yoda had manipulated the Force so the table was no longer engulfed in flames but rather glowed in red embers. _A little faster, Oldtimer,_ Han silently implored the Jedi Master. _Palps is liable to get lucky._

Han's orders were to distract, not engage. As a rule he didn't like playing defense, preferring to take the upper hand with an offensive move. _Yoda's playing holochess. I'm just the first pawn that gets sent out._

Palpatine was annoyed that he was left to fight off two sentient beings with no Force capability at all. But he seemed almost content to wait and see what Yoda was about to pull off. He toyed with Han and Chewie, allowing them to thwart off his advances, but all the while Han sensed he was capable of so much more and was just restraining himself.

That alone told him Yoda would win. _Stupid_ , Han thought. _You need to play more chess, Palps. You get a chance you don't wait. You clean the board_.

Han was starting to get the hang of deflecting the lightning with Luke's lightsaber. He learned fairly quickly that he could even aim which way to deflect it. That was coming in handy.

He and Chewie were by no means restrained. Han felt he was working harder than he ever did in his life. The lightning got close; literally and figuratively close enough that the danger and heat was making him sweat. Palpatine may be toying with them, but it took all their awareness and reflexes to stay one step ahead of being fried.

He wasn't about to take the time to try and understand Force lightning. He was a practical man and knew that sometimes the naked eye couldn't explain everything. Like with technology; just working the _Millennium Falcon_ involved a lot of physics and chemistry that he took on good faith, but at least someone understood it; it was explained in the manuals and taught in schools. He couldn't see it, but that didn't make it magic.

So the Emperor made lighting by using the Force. Whatever. Yoda didn't seem able to make lightning. He explained it as being of the Dark Side of the Force, but Han wasn't buying that. It was the Force, for crying out loud, why not make use of all parts of it.

If the Force was something beings accessed, or made use of, or however the hells Yoda explained it, then it was probably around a lot longer than beings were aware of. Like primeval existence. And Han was pretty sure something that basic wouldn't split itself up and decide what was good and what was bad. That, he was sure, was something beings felt needed to be done. Beings were always categorizing, assigning, judging. It was why he never stuck around too long. He refused to be pigeon holed. Some situations required him to be greedy while others let him be generous. He would never let someone's expectations for him dictate how he acted.

If he were Yoda, right about now he would be studying the Dark Side and learn to shoot back some lightning. He made a mental note to mention it to Luke.

If he ever got back to him.

He wished he had a blaster. In the time it was taking Yoda, Luke and Leia to make their plan a reality, Han had had a chance to observe the Emperor. He noticed that the lightning wasn't a constant commodity. Wherever it came from; whether pulled from the air out of the Force, or from the Emperor's will, or under his fingernails, it was available in limited quantity until the Emperor gathered enough molecules or magic or will or whatever to do it again. And while he made lightning he didn't seem to be able to do much else, and so Han would have enjoyed firing at him with his blaster. It probably wouldn't have caused any harm or damage - it hadn't before - but it certainly would have angered Palpatine. It was amusing, to see how royally ticked he became at his and Chewie's antics. _Little ol' smuggler me, pissing His Royal Wrinkles off._

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Something was happening. Leia could feel it. Her sense of self was expanding somehow. Something was growing within her, but it was not corporeal. It had no physical form, yet it was leaving her body, It was still a part of her, but it was outside of her, and it was beginning to fill the room. It wasn't anything tangible, but it was palpable.

Her eyes were closed, the corners of her mouth turned up. _Luke?_ she sent him through the Force.

 _We're doing it_ , he confirmed to her. He sounded like she felt: awed, and proud, and thrilled.

It was the past, Leia realized. The history of the Force was being read out in the room. Dark times, light times, all the beings that left their mark on it. Some that used the Force as brazenly as Palpatine had; others whose motives were unbelievably charitable. Acts of tremendous evil and feats of selfless good.

She opened her eyes, looking for something she could recognize. Would she see Kenobi? Would she see Anakin Skywalker?

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The Emperor felt the room shift.

He looked at Han and realized what had happened.

Yoda was making his play.

He stilled his lighting, taking sense of the room and what he felt in it.

He hadn't expected this. Of anything Yoda could have done, this wasn't on the list. He hadn't known this was possible.

Yoda wasn't using the Force as a tool. He was not manipulating it.

Both Jedi and Sith regarded the Force as an extension of themselves. Palpatine knew this; he had been a student of both the Dark and Light for a time. The philosophies of two factions split off in how to access the Force and what to accomplish with it, but the basis of being a Force user was regarded the same. Palpatine had become an expert in the Force arts; learning, practicing, understanding. When it was his moment to reveal himself as the Dark Lord of the Sith he stopped his studying and used the Force to become all powerful.

The Force was not part of Yoda right now. Right now, Yoda was part of the Force.

Palpatine felt a chill. No, he had not known this was possible. His greed, his lust for power, had stopped his studying. He had declared himself, but apparently he had not learned everything about the Force.

The Force had kept something from him.

Was the Force bigger than him?

Nonsense. He was the Emperor of the Galaxy; there had never been anyone bigger.

He shook off his moment of doubt. The Dark Side would serve him, because it needed him.

But he decided to change tactics.

He whipped his dormant lightsaber from under his robes, igniting it on the move as he whirled and spun toward the impostor Captain.

 _Shit, where the hells did that come from_ , Han wondered as the red laser of the Emperor's saber ignited. He stepped rapidly backward, trying to keep as much distance as possible between himself and the Emperor. Yoda had said he wouldn't need to duel, and after dodging lightning knew it was something he needed desperately to avoid.

"Luke, hurry up," Han yelled. "He's got a lightsaber!"

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Yoda felt the twin's break their concentration with him when Solo yelled.

Interesting, that Palpatine should bring out his weapon now, and not earlier. Why had he waited?

Was it that? Just a weapon? Did Palpatine view himself as so powerful he had no need of a weapon?

He nodded to Luke and Leia, signaling the need for meditation was at an end, and they could join Solo and Chewbacca. They had done enough. The Force was with them.

 _May the Force be with you._ That had been a closing salutation for thousands of years. At one time perhaps Force users really knew what it meant. Yoda knew, now. It was so simple.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation. Eternity was here.

The Jedi Temple was in the room with him. He was so moved to feel it by his side. He pressed his lips, holding back tears that threatened him.

 _I comfort you_ , the Temple told him.

 _No,_ Yoda shook his head at it. _No. There should have been a way for me to be your solace. I failed you._

 _Time,_ the Temple answered gently. _It is Time. We are always the Force. We only died because we lived. Time,_ the Temple repeated. _We share this last with you._

 _Yes,_ Yoda said. _I understand. Thank you for sharing_.

And there was Obi Wan Kenobi, beaming at him, looking proud with his arms crossed against his chest.

"Well, Master Yoda? What do you think of our little ploy?" he asked coyly.

"Knew this all along, did you Obi Wan?" Yoda asked. He felt happier now; still sad, always sad perhaps, to see the Temple as it died in ruins, but happier to encounter it again in the Force; gentle and loving, his home as he always had known it.

"Only since my death," Obi Wan said smartly.

"More than twenty years have I meditated on it, Obi Wan. Always did it elude me. Until the Skywalkers came."

"We needed that spark, that catalyst," Obi Wan agreed. "Solo's gesture allowed this all to come to be."

"Gesture?"

"The way he made his leave-taking," Obi Wan explained. "It ripped a hole in the fabric of their bond. Luke, Leia, even Chewbacca – all became very vulnerable to a shift in the way they viewed their world view."

Yoda nodded in understanding. It was true. It had been a selfish way to do a selfless act, but the uncertainty and hurt Solo left behind had allowed Luke and Leia to grow into themselves, had allowed Yoda to gain one last piece of wisdom. "Present is he."

"Only the very wise see him as a gift, Master Yoda," Obi Wan smiled.

Yoda watched as Han practically tossed Luke's lightsaber back into Luke's waiting grasp. Or perhaps Luke called it with the Force, and Solo wished to hurry it along. Yoda grunted. He would miss this. The room was filled with friends and enemies now working together, reduced by Time to a common goal. Yoda couldn't move for a while, overwhelmed by thoughts and feelings, gestures and conversations. Of Chewie, telling of his rescue from slavery and bemoaning his Life's Work. Of the pride Yoda took in Luke's growth; his awareness and maturity. How Leia had softened from resistance and anger to love and action.

He looked for his lost Temple and thought of the last Princess of Alderaan. "Like for her to know, would I. The Princess. "

"The living usually find it a difficult concept," Obi Wan said. "But if there was one in Life who would figure it out, I knew it would be you, Master Yoda." Obi Wan bowed in respect to his Master.

"And so, complete is my Life's Work."

"You are brilliant, Master Yoda."

Yoda was ready to move. "Mean much, does that not," he bantered, feeling humor return. "Come, find your former padawan, let us. Introduce him, to Palpatine we will."

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It was beautiful. That was the only word Luke knew to describe it, and it didn't come close to what he meant.

Did even such a word exist, he wondered? Could one word give a sense of the camaraderie, love, timelessness, the gentleness, the completeness?

Maybe that word was Force.

Leia knew it too. She was standing in front of Chewie, one so small against one so large, with her arms spread in a posture of protection. Chewie sensed something too, Luke saw, as if there was so much Force presence in the room it couldn't go undetected. At least not to a Wookiee, a being so connected to Life's processes. Chewie was singing again, the song of the Wookiee with the second larynx, and it only added to the beauty and magnitude of what they were accomplishing.

While Luke took all this in, he was still very active in fighting off the Emperor. Palpatine was a terror of Force activity. He called furnishings to hurtle through the air while he aimed his lightning everywhere and flipped and spun, his red lightsaber pursuing Luke's blue one. He sent visions of Anakin Skywalker through the Force to Luke's mind; remnants of the moments Anakin called upon the Dark Side to kill.

But Luke did not falter. There was nothing the Emperor could do. Even if he managed to kill Leia, or Han, or Chewie, there was the Force in here to take them; to validate their lives.

Han was helping him. He had quickly given up possession of the lightsaber to its rightful owner, but was doing his best to keep Luke free from lightning and flying furniture.

"Luke, do that lightning shit," Han shouted to him.

"What do you mean, lightning shit?" Luke called back.

"What Palps is doing. Give as good as you get."

"I can't do that," Luke rebuked. "That's Dark Side."

"Look at this room, kid!" Han urged.

Did Han sense it all, too? All the past called to action? Luke wondered. He wanted to take a moment to look at him, with his eyes and not just his Force sense, but the Emperor's attack precluded that.

"It's the Force," Han continued. "It's both. It doesn't keep a side. It's just the Force!"

 _He's right_ , Luke thought. Whether Han felt the Force in the room or not, he was right in that the Force just was; it was not here because it was good or bad. It was all. He was used to seeing the Force among his surroundings as tendrils, strands; it joined beings to each other as they shared a common time, but now the room was all Force. It had a center, and from there radiated connection, belonging; everything that was before and is now bound by the Force. _Beautiful_.

He kept his right hand around his lit lightsaber, and let Han take care that he stayed safe while he concentrated on his left. He approached his new task as he had when Yoda taught him to levitate rocks on Dagobah. It seemed so long ago now. There was the physical; gathering energy. There was the mental; calling his his mind to merge with his body and cause anything he imagined to be true.

He felt it stir. A heat grew from his chest, down his arm, out his fingers. Lightning! He was so shocked he stopped its flow.

His was gold. So lightning came in different colors? He looked for Master Yoda, to tell him. All the while Han was cheering and throwing a chair and the Emperor was looking very surprised.

Did he feel different? Did he feel he had accessed some dark region of his soul?

The room enveloped him in support. He brought gold fire from his hands again and this time found his mark.

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Leia could discern numerous Force senses, all those that had come before. They were departed from their physical bodies long enough that they no longer needed to remember them, or be remembered by them. But some looked like they must have in life. She had a feeling it had something to do with how long they'd been dead.

The Force spirit of Anakin Skywalker was frightening. He was disfigured, with angry scars on a hairless head. He brought the appearance of his prosthetic limbs with him, though he didn't need them. Leia watched him with blazing eyes.

"There he is," she murmured to Chewie. "Vader."

"Whose side is he on?" Chewie asked. "I just want to be sure."

Leia smiled. "Ours."

Vader approached Leia. "Daughter," he said, his head bowed.

"Don't call me that," she said. "You had no part in me except giving me life."

"Yes," he agreed sadly. "And you gave me death."

"I did," she answered him. Chewie noticed she stood a little straighter; not defiant, but proud. "You needed to be stopped."

"Yes," he agreed again. "You were right. I just wanted you to know."

"Tell me, Obi Wan," Yoda took his friend aside as they observed the exchange, "when with the Force I am, get along will he and I?"

Obi Wan nodded sagely. "Yes, Master. I've told you before. Things lose their urgency, once life is gone. It's like..." he pursed his lips, thinking. "...like ripples, moving out and out, always with the same center, just getting bigger; bigger, but fainter."

"Ripples," Yoda repeated. Luke, in his early days as his student on Dagobah, had described his view of the Force in just the same way. "Affirmed, am I. Learned

from me how to use the Force, did Luke. Learned from him did I, how to live." "Today we restore balance to the Force," Obi Wan declared. "The Light and Dark shall walk together. But it's not the first time the Force was so abused. It will happen again, won't it?"

"Becomes history, does this day," Yoda said. "Often forgotten are lessons of the past. But for now, for the immediate future, peace there shall be." He watched in fascination as Luke brought gold-colored lightning before the Emperor. "Luke's journey, has this been. Discovered on his own, has he. The best teacher, experience is. Well trained is he. Prepared is he."

"Are you prepared, Master Yoda?" "I am, Obi Wan."

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Minimized.

He was being minimized. All he was, all he had done, reduced, diminished.

The Force was bigger than he was. His existence, all his deeds, his great Empire, just a moment in time.

Palpatine fought against it, denying its truth.

He refused to go. He saw his chance, in the gold lightning emanating from the son of Skywalker. There was darkness in him. He only needed to separate it from what was light.

He recognized ones that had fought against him before; ones he had returned to the Force. He had killed them, yet they were not dead.

One mortal, two senses neared him. Palpatine peeled his lips back against his teeth. "Lord Vader," he said, naming one. The others were Kenobi and Yoda, too insignificant to mention. "You needed all this," he swept his hand out, indicating the room, "just for me."

"Do not be deceived," Vader advised his former master. "All this is just one thing. It is the Force. And it has come for you."

Palpatine's eyes widened. Was it possible to go back in time? His former apprentice appeared before him not as the Dark Lord he had been of late. He was like Anakin Skywalker before his turn, struggling to maintain Light with Dark. "I have achieved what no other has!" Palpatine roared. "If I have to kill the Force to cement my accomplishments then so be it. Let no other have the Force!"

"There, your mistake lies," Yoda said, coming closer. "Possessed, it is not to be."

The three pressed around Palpatine. He was unable to take a step backward as something pressed into him from that direction as well. Wild-eyed, he strove to turn around, to see what it was, but was unable to locate anything or anyone specific. He saw the Wookiee beast standing with the impostor Captain, the woman who presumed to be the body of Vader next to the son of Skywalker. He summoned all his dark powers, but even that behaved sluggishly, indifferently.

Lightning quivered from his hands. Just as he threw it at Skywalker, Yoda, Kenobi and Vader and all that had been enveloped him. The last thing he saw was the gold lightning.

"Master Yoda, NO!" Luke shouted in horror. His lightning, destined for Palpatine, took the three members of the Force as well. Luke's lightning cut off, and the room suddenly emptied, like a window slammed shut against the fresh air. Silence reigned. The beautiful sensation of utter completeness left Luke and Leia.

The lights came back on, leaving Luke, Leia, Han, and Chewie to gape in wide eyed amazement at each other.

 


	45. Chapter 45

They were not ready to celebrate yet. Their minds were as hazy as the smoke-filled room. They moved slowly, haltingly; exploring the ruins and letting them tell the story.

The Emperor was gone. Han and Chewie sifted through the physical evidence for confirmation. It would have been nice to find a body. They had seen enough today to be able to accept the Force on good faith because Luke said to, but a lack of something concrete to hold onto was an old habit and allowed doubt to creep into their eyes, and so they kept looking. Luke and Leia absorbed the quiet and peace that filtered into the room, ushering out the hate. They knew with a deep-rooted certainty they had been successful. The Emperor's reign was over.

But they could not celebrate yet. Their great win had come at a terrible cost, sapping the joy out of the room.

Yoda was also gone. He was nowhere in the ruins. They had all seen him jump in front of Luke's lightning, but looked for him among the burnt furnishings nevertheless, thinking the master would be able to overcome anything. Han and Chewie searched hard, wanting to find something, anything. If they were to accept the Force could snatch the Emperor and reduce him to energy then sure as hells a Jedi Master could survive Force lightning.

Gone also was the living Force, bearing the dead inside it. For Luke it was a breathtaking sensation; protective, soothing, caring. It had covered Luke, adhered to his very soul. And then it left, ripping itself away from him, and he was left bereft, raw; so many thoughts and emotions. He was thrilled, but also bewildered, hurt, grateful.

He had ridden along the path of existence itself, witnessed with sparkling clarity how life unfolded. The ride was over now; he'd been abruptly returned to the present. His vision was murkier; the destination less defined.

It reminded him of his uncle tossing him into the air when he was a young boy. How Luke twisted and turned, fighting gravity, seeing how different their living area looked from up high instead of on the ground. He always landed in his uncle's arms, shrieking and laughing, demanding to be thrown in the air once more. _Again, again!_ How wonderful it would be to ride the Force like that again.

 _Uncle Owen._ He collapsed to the floor. _Why am I thinking of you? Why now? We just killed the Emperor. We just won the Rebellion. Mostly,_ he amended. Leia would not quite agree, he mused. She always said things were never that simple.

Subconsciously, his uncle must have always been there. Han, who had numerous false IDs in his cockpit, hadn't had a ready pseudonym but Luke's flowed off the tip of his tongue: Lieutenant Owen.

 _You always wanted me to grow up to be a farmer. Yoda and Ben helped me to grow into what I could be. Were you here earlier, when the Force was_?

Han, Leia and Chewie were coming towards him, as if Luke were the designated meeting spot in the room.

 _Process it_. His dead master's words were in his head. It was the same as before; that time Ben had spoken to Luke during the Battle of Yavin, after a too-brief introduction to the Force shortly before Ben was killed. _Use the Force, Luke._ Luke barely had a hold on sensing the Force, and had knocked on his helmet, certain he was hearing things.

He knew he wasn't hearing things now.

_With you, is the Force._

He nodded to his departed Master but he wanted to sniffle like a child. _And with you. I want my aunt and uncle to know the beauty of the Force. It's not fair._

_Returned to the energy of of what makes Life, were they. Seek them, and there they shall be._

Eyes closed, Luke listened to Yoda's last lesson. He journeyed from his self out and out into the ever expanding radius, following his history through the Force until he found them, his aunt and uncle. He recognized their energy, caressed their senses; gave them the farewell each had longed for.

He ached to feel himself lost in the Force like that again. If he could just hook into that timeless buoyancy, floating to infinite heights, become the future with all the past bearing his weight….

_And be what, would you?_

It took him a few moments to answer. He sifted through desires and impressions, encounters and conversations. He almost answered _complete_ but followed it through, hearing Leia again say nothing was that simple. While he lived into his future, stumbling through his murky present, he would have to combat other's attitudes about his birthright, about the Force, about Jedi. _Doubt-free. Yes, I would like that._

 _Self-knowledge, do you seek._ Yoda sounded pleased.

Leia sat beside him. The battle was reflected in her appearance, but her eyes glittered with emotion. Clumps of her hair were missing, the rest in burnt tatters, and she was sweating profusely in Vader's life suit. Chewie, too, had patches of fur missing, revealing red, blistered skin, and Han bore angry red welts on his cheek and wrist. His jacket, pocked with ashen holes, still smoked in places.

 _I want it back. I want you here. To share in our victory. You deserve that much._ Han strode over to the place where the Emperor had disappeared. "Where'd he go?"

"He's gone," Luke answered in a toneless voice.

_My victory, have I._

"I see that. But where'd he go?" It suddenly occurred to Luke he wasn't sure which being Han was talking about. They had all disappeared, but Han, not being able to sense them through the Force, only saw Yoda and the Emperor, and both had vanished.

Luke bet himself Han was talking about the Emperor. That's what would worry Han. They'd been fighting an enemy and suddenly the enemy disappeared. Han would want to make sure there was no way their enemy could suddenly return.

"We can't keep doing that, kid."

Luke raised his eyes to Han. "Doing what?"

"Losing Jedi Masters. First the old man, now Yoda." Han toed the robes of the Emperor and Yoda which lay in a crumpled heap on the floor with his boot.

Luke grunted to himself. _The old man._ So he'd been wrong. Han had never let on before that the loss of Ben on the Death Star had impacted him. They had never talked about it. And now he was ruing Yoda's loss.

Leia tenderly put an arm around Luke's shoulder. "It wasn't you, Luke," she said gently.

"Yeah," Han agreed. "He knew what he was doing."

Chewie had taken the robes from Han with a mournful noise and brought them to Luke with a hug.

They were sympathetic, for him. Luke felt badly; they should be celebrating; loud, boisterous, happy. Emotions of the living.

He gave them a bolstering grin. "I know. I'm okay." It hadn't occurred to him they might think he felt guilty. He didn't; what happened here had all been the Force's doing. Their moods began to shift, ever so slightly. Layers of shock and disbelief were slowly being washed away by victory.

Leia and Han were right. His lightning wasn't what cut Yoda down. Yoda put himself in the path of it. Luke understood that. "He's not dead. Not really." _Are you, Master? I shouldn't grieve you._

"Well," Han began to hedge, but Leia shot him a warning look and he shut his mouth, a guilty look on his face that Luke found amusing.

"He let the Force take him," Luke told them. "He wanted that. And he wanted to be sure it took Palpatine, too."

"So, when you say not dead," Han ventured carefully, "exactly what do you mean?" Luke smiled. There was the old Solo caution he was looking for earlier. "He's a part of the Force now. Like when Leia and I have sensed and even seen Ben before. It's like a foot print. A life imprint." Luke broke eye contact to feel Han's imprint. It hummed with energy and vigor. Luke held it to him tightly, so that Han's imprint wouldn't be lost to him in the Force some day like his uncle's almost was. _I didn't really lose you, did I, Master?_

_Processed it, you have._

"'Seen'," Han said. He wanted to be clear about this. "Can you get a body again, though? Is Palps done for good?"

Luke's smile turned sad. "Yeah. He's done." This was their victory. "We did it."

Han would never see Yoda again. The likes of Palpatine would plague the galaxy no more. Luke would never see the Force like that again. It had reverted to its quiet form, snaking through and around him; quiet and mysterious. It's not so simple for the living, is it. _You might be one withe the Force, but I'll still miss the physical you._

"We did it," he said again, in full realization. Had they earned vindication? Could they erase the scars of Chewie's bondage and Leia's home? Luke glanced at them. Leia wasn't crying but tears were streaming down her face. She wasn't sad but nor was she crying for joy. Chewie was standing, which was not unusual, but his posture was one he'd never noticed from the Wookiee before. "Chewie, are you okay?" he asked, concerned that maybe Chewie was injured.

Han reached up to give Chewie an understanding pat. "That's just the Stance of Burden," he explained.

"The what?" Luke asked, perplexed. "You're not hurt?" Chewie's knees were bent, his back hunched over.

"The Stance of Burden," Han repeated. "When a Wookiee takes the weight for the others. He's fine."

Luke's mouth opened to ask more, but then it sank in. Leia's tears, Chewie's pose; they were the same. They were an acknowledgement for all the galaxy; an awareness of pain and promise for a future. Their depth of feeling was profound.

Han cleared his throat. "We need to finish this." He went to Leia, sealing the moment by brushing a cheek free of tears with his thumb but then all business again. "Can you reach Command at Sullust?"

"You forget," she told him, wiping her other cheek with the back of her own palm. "I'm AWOL."

"Oh, yeah. I did forget. And Luke and I lost our status." He grabbed Palpatine's robes from Chewie. "Anyone want to impersonate Palps now?" he half-kidded.

"Will we fight for the rest of the Palace?" Chewie asked.

"I know a way," Leia determined. "We'll use the media."

"The media?" Luke questioned. "I don't know," Han rubbed a hand through smoke-filled hair. "That might cause all kinds of chaos 'til it's confirmed."

"It's chaos now," she rejoined.

"Who would confirm something like that?" Luke asked. He was coming back to them. The intensity of riding the timeline of the Force, of being part of the past and future, was impossible to maintain, much as he wanted it. Real life and its pressing matters was calling to him.

"Staff, right hand men, literally in this case since he only let human males near him," Leia seemed to be thinking out loud. "And news of this magnitude will reach Sullust quickly. They'll act."

"It will take convincing," Chewie put in. "We don't have a body to show."

Han looked around the room. "I wonder if there are security cameras in here. It's a receiving room, so probably."

"And running right now," Luke added. "There was no override for the doors in here, so I bet all the master controls are all in one place."

Leia nodded thoughtfully. Han reached for Leia's hand to pull her to standing. "Come on, your Lordship. Open these doors for us. Let's see if we can't find a Palace holo reporter droid."

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"Play it back for me," Leia instructed the droid. She had crafted an announcement with painstaking care.

Several hours had passed. They left Chewie to stand guard in the Emperor's receiving room while they went to explore. No more Red Guards had attempted entry. Leia was pleased that it might mean news of the coup was moving internally. It would only lend credence to her announcement, and expedite the takeover.

Vader's life suit was all they needed to open the doors they located from the receiving room. They had found one leading to the room Luke and Han initially encountered when they'd asked to use the 'freshers. They also entered Palpatine's living quarters, but Leia wouldn't let anyone rifle through his possessions or even walk around.

"Be mindful of the security cameras," she cautioned. "We have to be really careful how we handle this. We can't let them interpret any action as stepping out of bounds in any way. There are beings who are loyal to the Emperor, and that loyalty is going to increase tenfold when they get word of his death. If they see something as a personal insult they'll reject us outright."

Another room was a staff room. It contained mainly droids but also two Imperials, trained as administrators. They'd been shocked into inaction at the sight of Vader, helmet-less and female. Han, who had claimed a blaster from among the ruins of the Emperor's room, pressured the administrators to bring them to the control station. There, they were able to witness the scope of their own achievement.

Leia's eyes scanned the security tape. The quality was grainy; the figures muted. She selected footage of Vader and Yoda kneeling before the Emperor before they rose in challenge. Then she had a droid edit to after the lights went out. There was no omitting the fact that a blue lightsaber was involved; it glowed like a beacon in the Emperor's lightning.

Leia bit her cheek, thinking hard. She needed to put the right spin on this. The Emperor was no problem; he had created his own publicity nightmare. He had always kept his affiliation with the Sith and the Dark Side of the Force under wraps, fostering the image of the benevolent dictator. Only a handful knew of his true identity in life, but in death it was on show for every being to see. His own lightning highlighted his murderous soul and it was clear as day in the security footage how he was resolved to level anything in his way.

 _Vader will take the fall,_ she decided. _And Yoda, Jedi who should have been dead two decades ago._

Of the others in the tape, Han and Luke were identifiable by the light of the blue lightsaber. _Which shall it be, the smuggler or the farm boy?_ Her finger tapped the edit button uncertainly.

Mercurial, madcap, mercenary. They would say all those things about Han. His record as an Imperial pilot and subsequent court martial also would stand out.

Luke would be a mystery. He had been so ordinary on Tatooine he was almost invisible.

_The criminal or the Jedi?_

The media would have a field day with Han. His past was open to interpretation and his story could go, very plausibly, in both directions. The for-hire terrorist with a chip on his shoulder and revenge in his eyes or the talented career serviceman who sought to right a wrong.

Luke carried the reputation of the Jedi on his shoulders. Once stalwart guardians of peace, Palpatine had successfully put his own spin on the Order, planting the seeds of distrust and sowing suspicion. When he made his move to eliminate the Jedi, no one so much as raised a finger against him. Even now, more than twenty years later, it was going to be hard for Luke to overcome the prejudice against Force users.

Han was also quite thick-skinned and a bit of a con artist, if not an actor. Leia made her decision. _The pirate, then._ She smiled to herself. _So many nicknames. Nerfherder,_ she added affectionately.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"General, I think you better take a look at this," a corporal said quietly among the bustle of the operations room.

General Rieekan was busy, knee-deep in determining where and how to split up two fleets to patrol the Outer Rim territories once held by Jabba the Hutt's clan. He looked up at his corporal. Normally he would order it, whatever it was, brought to him, but there was something in the corporal's tone of voice more so than the words he uttered. There was a sense of bemusement, disbelief, even awe. He rose without comment and joined the corporal at the holodisplay.

The corporal looked at Rieekan to gauge his reaction, but he was disappointed to see only a slight raise of the eyebrows. "Do you think it's legitimate, Sir?"

Rieekan's head flinched back at the question and the screen before him. The scene certainly looked legitimate; he had seen countless press releases originating from the press room at the Imperial Palace that this one didn't stand out as bogus. The scarlet curtain, the black and white Imperial crest on the speaker's podium, the raised stage. Even the lighting brought forth a memory of familiarity that he would not question.

"That's Solo, isn't it?" the corporal questioned further, pointing a finger at the image of a man standing at the podium.

Eyebrows still high, wrinkling his brow, Rieekan nodded. Yes, that was Solo. He knew him by his untidy hair, the scar on his chin, the way his mouth tried to clamp down on words that managed to slip out the side. But he didn't know _this_ Solo; this man wearing an Imperial Captain's uniform, looking somewhat battle weary, his eyes dark and humorless.

 _They did it._ Something bloomed in him, and his adrenalin spiked without any prompting. It was just Solo on the dais; nothing to respond to biologically; there was no threat here in this room; and yet Rieekan felt his heart thumping nervously in his chest and he rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants.

"Sir?" the corporal asked.

"What's he saying?" Rieekan asked. His voice came out husky and he cleared it. "Turn the volume up."

"Yes, Sir. He's been talking about a coup. I called you over when he said the Emperor was dead."

 _So they did do it. Holy shit of the gods. Something Solo would say._ Rieekan analyzed every pixel of the holo. _Where are the others? Where's the Princess?_ Anxiety for the safety of his friend's daughter made him miss Solo's pronouncement, but he gulped as the holo began to run footage from Emperor Palpatine's receiving room.

"Is that…..Vader?" the corporal exclaimed.

"It certainly appears so," Rieekan commented dryly. Yoda, Vader, and the Wookiee, kneeling before the Emperor. No Solo.

But Vader was dead. Leia had told him that herself, and he had confirmed it with Solo and Skywalker as well. _Speaking of Skywalker, where is he?_

Rieekan continued to watch spellbound, looking for any sign of Princess Leia. She had disappeared, not coincidentally he thought, the same time the _Millennium Falcon_ had departed Sullust carrying Skywalker, Solo, Yoda and Chewbacca on their fool's mission to take down the Emperor. While Leia had not confided in him, or anyone for that matter, her subsequent absence from meetings led him to suspect she was a passenger on the _Falcon._

And before that they had all been gone a long time, months. Not a word; not a whispered communication from a cell, a coded comm call, nothing. And they had surfaced on Tatooine, offering Jabba the Hutt's palace and holdings, news of Vader's death, and the company of Master Jedi Yoda, once thought lost.

Princess Leia was a stranger to him then. Doe-eyed and fierce, reticent and determined. She was no longer the righteous Rebel but an inflamed politician, her head spinning with ideas for the New Republic and Galactic Alliance that even Mon Mothma wasn't ready to discuss.

Rieekan had protected her. Sullust was big enough that he simply got Princess Leia's name lost in several rolls of red tape. If they looked for her at a meeting they would find she was signed on a computer from her quarters; if they needed her to work a shift she was under orders of respite care from a med droid. C-3PO would appear issuing orders on her behalf and summoning information.

Rieekan grimaced. If she wasn't with them, he was going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do. And if she was with them, but somehow killed….he shook his head. He would not go there. Not for his Princess.

Solo's deep voice caught his attention. _"I, and my colleagues, are not seizing control for ourselves."_ Rieekan noticed he was reading from a flimsi. It didn't sound like Solo. Not the kind of words that would slip sideways in a lazy drawl from his mouth. He was reading. _Colleagues._ Did Solo even talk like that at all? No, this was scripted.

Someone wrote it.

Who?

Was Solo under duress? _"We invite the Galactic Alliance to establish control."_

Rieekan breathed with deep relief. Leia! _Thank the Force_. She was alive. She was alive, and plotting, and winning. He shook his head in admiration. _I should never have doubted you, Princess._

"Corporal," he snapped suddenly. "Transmit that over to Senator Mothma's office. Convene a meeting of the High Council immediately." He pushed the replay button to hear the transmission properly for himself.

 _"We have an important announcement affecting the future of the galaxy,"_ Solo began, almost monotone and sounding bored. _"The GDC - Galactic Democratic Coalition - declares the Empire disbanded. Emperor Palpatine is dead. He was killed in a skirmish earlier today in his receiving rooms._ _"_

_I speak on behalf of Lord Vader, the Emperor's most trusted assistant and advisor. Lord Vader devised this coup, as you will see in security footage, and was also killed."_

Just who was Lord Vader in the security tape? Rieekan wondered, burning with curiosity. Probably Skywalker.

 _"Lord Vader, acting together with the former Jedi Yoda, conceived the plot to depose the Emperor with the goal of establishing a more beneficial governmental system_.

Yes, this most certainly was written by Princess Leia. Rieekan had to congratulate the group. How had they managed to get inside the Palace? This would be tale told for generations. He was eager to hear it.

_"Lord Vader privately became disenchanted with the direction Emperor Palpatine was bringing the Empire, particularly after the planet Alderaan's destruction three standard years ago. He clandestinely arranged for Master Jedi Yoda and several other undercover operatives, including myself, to bring about a coup."_

Here Solo's eyes flicked up to meet the camera lens. He looked steadily at his unseen audience, and Rieekan knew everyone watching, from homes, cantinas, offices, would remember this moment for the rest of their lives.

Rieekan had lived long enough to have had a few moments like that. Life changing events. He counted the fall of the Old Republic as one; that day Supreme Chancellor Palpatine proclaimed himself Emperor after a supposed assassination attempt by the Jedi. He counted the destruction of Alderaan as another. On the anniversaries of each momentous occasion it was common for beings to recount how they heard the news, where they were, what they were doing.

_"I, and my colleagues, are not seizing control for ourselves."_

Brief, to the point. No storytelling, not too much political pontification. Rieekan watched the footage again. He shook his head in disbelief. He had no idea, none, the Emperor was capable of such things. He'd never seen anything like it in his life, not even from the few Jedi he'd had the pleasure to know. He heard the roars of Chewbacca in the background; could see Solo … with a lightsaber? The dark figure of Vader was shadowy and in the background. He had the feeling he wasn't seeing all of the tape. Leia had no doubt limited the evidence of what was to be seen. She had done a good job. Solo was never a member of the Alliance like she or Skywalker were, so there would be no conflict of interest.

He gathered his flimsis containing all the data on his fleets, and others outlining the location of Imperial Star Destroyer fleets. They would need to act, and fast. Skywalker and Solo had told them they were going after the Emperor despite Alliance orders and they had managed it swiftly and concisely. The fallen Empire was in the Alliance's lap, and he hoped to all the gods they wouldn't sit in meetings too long.

" _We invite the Galactic Alliance to establish control."_

We'll take you up on that, Solo. Rieekan made his way to the Council conference chambers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! They did it. We've reached the end of the story arc as seen in the movies, but we still have a lot to wrap up, so we will learn what starts to happen tomorrow. Thanks for reading.


	46. Chapter 46

Han finished reading, but gave no signal to the recording droid filming his statement that he was through. In fact, the droid was used to reading the body language of performance, and this human was far from finished. His head was lowered to the flimsi he had been reading from, (not too animatedly, the droid pondered), and he seemed to be deep in thought. His fingers rested lightly on the podium, as if he was not yet ready to let go.

 _Something's missing,_ Han reflected. Leia's writing was just like what Han knew and expected of her. It was impassioned and idealistic, artfully expressed in a sweeping, educated vocabulary.

It was beautiful, just like she was, but it was princessy. She'd lived most of her life from up high, safe in a royal house or on the Senate floor. _Half the population won't get it,_ he thought.

Leia wrote of rights and liberties. She painted a picture of an individual whose life had meaning and significance in its place in the galaxy. She described an interim government and called for an immediate return of the disbanded Senate, asking any still living to take up their seat again, attending as holos.

Han's tone remained flat and distant because while he read them, her words didn't always reach him. He believed them, had acted on behalf of them, but he had a different way of expressing them.

Finally, the droid witnessed the human shift his feet. Each finger of his hands raised in unison and then tapped down again decisively.

Han raised his eyes back to the recording lens. "Keep it peaceful," he advised. "Change is here. It shouldn't be violent. If there's fighting it's going to come from the Imperials who are trying to hold on to what keeps 'em fat. Don't let them turn weapons on you. And," here his voice turned stern and he pointed a finger accusingly at the camera, "no looting." The looting was what worried him. If he was down planet it's what he would do.

There, that was enough. Maybe. "I'm done," he told the camera.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_"'I'm done', were the last words uttered by the mysterious human who, together with Lord Darth Vader and Jedi General Yoda, may have taken down an Empire. Details are still hazy, but stay with us as we broadcast without interruption. We'll check in with our correspondents on the scene at the Palace in a moment._

_"But first, who is the face behind the mysterious organization the Galactic Democratic Coalition? Senior Correspondent Aeshyl Vindar tells us what we know so far. Aeshyl?" "_

_Thank you, Municar. I'm here at the University of Coruscant, Department of Social Zoology and Interspecies Relations. We brought a copy of the coup statement to Professor-"_

"Don't you think they should be more concerned with what the GDC is?" Chewie remarked to Leia as they reached the rooftop of the palace.

Holovisions were everywhere; inside the hangar docks of the Imperial transportation fleet and outside on many of the buildings. Coruscant was a city constantly on the move, and because of that, movement often found itself stilled and restricted by congestion in the space lanes. Residents were able to view advertising and news reports as they sat idle in traffic. Leia and Chewie had no trouble keeping abreast of the developments of the coup as word got out.

Leia shrugged indifferently. "You know there's nothing to go on. It only came into existence as of earlier this afternoon."

_"- the speaker is in his early to mid-thirties, and judging by his accent, the Professor has discerned he is quite possibly Corellian -"_

"Quite possibly?" Leia scoffed. "What are you doing, Chewie?"

Chewie was prying the Imperial crest off the Emperor's passenger shuttle they had used before. "Change is here," he told Leia with a grin, quoting Han. He gave a final tug with his powerful fingers and tossed the crest off the rooftop with a flick of his wrist.

Leia followed it with her eyes. "Careful, Chewie. We don't want to cause any accidents or injuries by flying crests."

_"- jagged scar below his mouth seems to indicate a violent -"_

"Sorry," Chewie told Leia. He held the door open for her to board first. "Think they'll identify Han?"

She nodded and squeezed into the pilot's cabin. "Just a matter of time, I'm sure."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Good job, Han," Luke greeted him as Han stepped off the dais. He slapped Han heartily on the shoulder and immediately felt sorry after his friend arched his back and squirmed away quickly. "Sorry. You got burns there, too?"

"Got 'em lots of places," Han grimaced. "Nothing bad; just don't touch me."

"Let's find the medical offices here," Luke suggested. He marched to the control desk of the media room and pulled up a screen. He typed in his search, and frowned back to Han. "There's none here," he said, positive he was in error. He typed some more. "I'm not getting any hits."

"Big as this place is, it's still a residence." Han explained. "Probably everyone else worked here or's made of some metal or plastic. He'd call in his own medic."

"Huh." Luke remained at the console, still searching. "I have some time I think. Want me to find a clinic?"

"I'm not going to a clinic. Besides, I might get ID'd. Her Lordship told me to stay here."

Luke nodded. "OK. She told me to be on hand, too. I'm supposed to show the ruins when reporters come. Let's go sit in that nice room, the one East took us." He turned to a droid, looking it up and down to read its designation. "Excuse me?" he said politely. "Can we get a drink?"

"You'll need to locate a hospitality droid," the droid answered. Luke exchanged a frustrated glance with Han.

"Your government at work," Han stated with a grin.

"What do you think the coup means to the droids?" Luke asked curiously.

Han shrugged. "I don't know." He didn't care, really. "Reprogramming, maybe. Memory wipes on some." They had reset the door controls to to identify them and slipped into the waiting room with no troubles.

Han stood with a sigh and began to unbutton his Captain's jacket. Luke stepped forward to help pull it off his shoulders.

"Wait -"

"Ow."

"-It's stuck," Luke complained. He snapped his wrist down and the fabric tore from Han's shirt, revealing a nasty burn. "You need a medic," Luke said.

"Chewie does too," Han answered, pulling at his sleeves and wincing some more.

"You just going to tough it out?"

"I'm used to it," Han shrugged. "You don't get much sympathy from a Wookiee."

Luke gave a small smile. He walked around the room, fingering the lush fabric and comfortable furnishings. He liked the way his boots sank into the woven carpeting. He came to a corner where the scarlet fabric covering the wall was a deeper burgundy. He started to pull it aside when a holovision sprang to life and a droid appeared.

"It's on the news already," Luke said, surprised.

_"-rose to power as a Senator from Naboo forty-five years -"_

"What may I offer you, gentle beings?" the droid asked with a bow.

"I'll have an ale," Han said. "Water, please," Luke told the droid. "Don't drink too much, Han," he cautioned. "We still might need you."

"Then I'll be a drunk terrorist," Han rejoined sharply."Fine. Bring a bottle of wine then."

_"- how Lord Vader, thought to embrace the same ideals as -"_

"They're going to tear him apart. And Yoda, too," Luke observed sorrowfully.

Han was unconcerned. "They're dead. They don't care. Anyway, better them than you."

Luke nodded. He still got a faint sense of Yoda. His master was not appearing as a Force spirit, but Luke had the sensation of something that was his own; almost a shadow, almost a token, something definitely Yoda. It was comforting. Yoda's sense was all good humor and delight.

_"-disillusionment beginning with the use of the Death Star, the armed battle station credited with the planet Alderaan's destruction three years ago -"_

"We're expecting reporters," Han told the hospitality droid, taking the wine thanklessly. "Don't let 'em in here, just get us."

The droid bowed. "As you wish, sir."

"Han," Luke blurted unexpectedly, "would you serve on my Jedi council when I restart the Order?"

Han spat wine noisily from his mouth and coughed. "No!" he exclaimed, then seemed to give it some thought. "You're kiddin', right?"

Luke smiled. "No." He waved his hand and lowered the volume of the holovision with the Force. "It's something I've been thinking about. Since Tatooine, actually."

_"- not in the room when Lord Vader began his attack -"_

He crossed the room and sat near Han on the edge of a seat. It conformed immediately to his dimensions, and Luke realized it was stuffed with a biological substance rather than something mechanical. It was incredibly soft and comfortable. He sat back deeper in it. "The way I look at it," he explained to Han, "is that the Force is everywhere, in everything."

"Yeah," Han answered slowly. "I've heard this before."

_"- looking into whether he truly is a Captain in the Imperial Navy or somehow managed -"_

"It's like music," Luke continued passionately. "Everyone has it. Everyone can enjoy it. But not everyone can play it. Only some are able to make it."

"So you're saying Force ability is like a talent?" Han asked.

"Yes, exactly," Luke declared, pleased. "And I want to establish not just a Jedi order, where they are peace keepers of the galaxy like they were, but a… a kind of …..academy, where anyone can go, Force users or not, and study the Force."

_"- the Jedi purge twenty-three years ago -"_

"I don't think Force users should be singled out, separated," Luke added. "I think that's one way the Jedi ran into problems. If you distance yourself, you seem aloof, and people think you act superior."

Han nodded thoughtfully as he listened, his brows up as if Luke kept surprising him with every word he uttered. "Your council will include both Force users and non?"

 _"-apparently in hiding. How he came together with Vader is not yet -_ "

Luke nodded eagerly. "Yes. Another thing I realized, learning from Yoda and looking back how things happened over the last twenty years: the Jedi didn't recognize how much a part of the Force they are; they thought the Force was just in them. And after a while, thinking like that, they couldn't see how the Force was doing; where it was going. They couldn't read it. They got mired down in their own selves and Palpatine got control."

Luke had been thinking of the future of the Force and Force users ever since he had felt his powers develop greater ability on Tatoiine. He had talked about it with Yoda a little. His master had been a careful listener but was very clear that Luke's vision was Luke's. That was as far as they had taken it. Luke hadn't uttered his philosophy aloud to anyone else. He hadn't thought to mention it to Han, but now his words spilled out in a torrent and he saw that his own clumsy way with words was best to practice on Han.

"A non-Force user on the council can keep Force users in line, do you know what I mean? They can let the Jedi know when they're full of bantha shit." Luke struggled a moment, finding it very difficult to articulate. This was something he had realized while they fought the Emperor, when the timelessness of the Force swept him away. It had been like a drug, Luke realized. He remembered the wonderful feeling of contentment the Force gave him in those moments; the knowledge and clarity of things past and things to come. He knew it was really dangerous to have to summon the Force like that again, and probably the Force would not obey unless things got really skewed like they had during Palpatine's reign, but he had had one sneaky and scary thought after it was over: he would pay to feel like that again.

 _" - all Force users. He is seen in the footage holding a blue lightsaber-_ "

"Are you offering me a job?" Han said, amusement now plainly on his face.

"Well. It wouldn't pay," Luke said sheepishly. "You'd be appointed. Like on a board of governors. Or non-profit. I don't know, Han!" he suddenly exploded. "I don't know how to set stuff like this up."

_"- the Galactic Democratic Coalition could have thousands of members, all over the galaxy," a pompous voice intoned. "Or it could just be these three: Vader, Yoda and this Corellian. Force users, all. Possibly even the Wookiee who was brought in with Yoda-"_

Han laughed lightly at Luke.

"The other thing," Luke resumed, ignoring Han, "is something I realized watching you, that day in the cavern, remember? When we had the speeder ride in the canyons?"

Han nodded encouragingly. "Yeah."

"You used your senses. It was dark in there, but you could move around. And you touched the wall, and you could smell the raebbaer that lived in there."

"So?" Han shrugged.

"Well, that's the Force," Luke almost sputtered. "That's exactly how I started to learn it, by opening up my senses. You can't feel it, and I can, but you did the same thing. I remember thinking if I ever had a student, I'd take them somewhere really dark, where they couldn't rely on their eyes, and let them explore and sense."

"That's just using your brains, kid."

"It's not that obvious for most beings."

The pair were silent a few moments, and then Han chuckled again. "I'm not gonna be on your council," he told Luke, shaking his head in amusement.

"I know," Luke said resignedly. "That's fine. You'd probably never show up for meetings. What do you think, though? Think I have something? I'm just thinking out loud."

Han's brows were up again in encouragement. "Yeah. Definitely."

_"- no confirmation at this time-"_

"Thanks."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Air traffic around Imperial City was thickening. _Coruscant_ , Chewie corrected. The city was maddening to him; offensive and proud. There was no nature; nothing to connect the residents to the planet. They kept going up, drifting, rootless.

Wookiees went up too; he couldn't fault the beings here for wanting to know, wanting to reach higher. On Kashyyk to break out of the tree tops and feel pure sunshine on one's face, not speckled in the shade of leaves, was a goal. It was a summit; a personal accomplishment, but it was only to be enjoyed for a moment. There was no point in going higher. Wookiees needed the trees, the leaves, the shade. Without it one starved.

It was the same here. He felt the suffocating isolation, wondered why someone didn't realize they needed to just _come down._

He was forced to slow the Imperial passenger shuttle a near stop around Citizen's Square, and immediately saw the reason for the extra congestion.

It was the largest of the broadcast screens they had encountered. Citizen's Square was a building occupying all four corners of a city block. Inside, offices monitoring and regulating every facet of social, economic, and political life managed the microcosm that had become Imperial City. Han's image dominated the outdoor broadcast screen over the Square, his voice filtering in through the sound vent inside the passenger shuttle. Chewie had heard the statement so many times, driving around the city, passing outdoor news billboards, that he was sure he could recite it by memory.

"You were the face of the Rebellion," Chewie commented to Leia, steering the once-Imperial shuttle back to the docking bay. "Now Han is the face of victory."

_"-with the cryptic statement 'I'm done.' Is the Corellian indeed part of the GDC or merely a mercenary, hired to -"_

Leia smiled. Han's huge face floating several miles above the ground mirrored exactly how she felt: walking on air and larger than life. She had heard his ad lib at the conclusion of her statement but did not fault him. "It's a good face for it," she admitted shyly.

Chewie humphed. "It's looking a little worse for wear," he remarked.

She smiled again. "Look at you," she retorted. "Half your fur on your chest is missing. Not to mention, look at me," she patted her head ruefully.

_"- we'll bring you eyewitness accounts from Palace employees who were in -"_

Chewie pressed gently on the accelerator as security droids ushered the traffic to move along. "At least mechanical functions won't stop. There'll be a semblance of order for a while."

"Yes," Leia agreed. "That's important. I think Han is right; there's going to be those that take advantage of the uncertainty and loot. But mostly it's going to come from whenever the rest of the Imperial officials arrive to defend."

_"- Lieutenant Owen, one of the first-"_

"There's Luke!" Leia pointed at the screen in delight.

"I just hope the Alliance gets here as quickly."

"Yes," Leia said grimly.

_"- the Emperor's gone," Luke's voice came, sounding awestruck and naive. "Just gone. I went in and the whole room was on fire. Only one person in it, that man that read the statement. I didn't see Lord Vader or this Jedi you're asking me about -"_

The shuttle craft landed gently on the hangar tarmac. The _Millennium Falcon_ rested where they had left her, the guard detail absent. It did not surprise Leia. The Palace had emptied without any resistance at all.

_"- he disarmed me and forced me to -"_

"He must have been worse as a boss than he was as a dictator," Chewie mumbled bitterly, checking the Falcon's security panel for damage. "No one has put up a fight."

Leia nodded in agreement. "His subjects all lived in fear. Can you imagine what it's like working in an atmosphere like that? Your life on the line every day."

_"- no, I have no idea where he went. I've been trying to contain the Palace, but everyone is fleeing. The Emperor's Red Guard is gone, there's no -"_

The _Falcon_ answered Chewie's code with a satisfying hiss and the ramp lowered for the pair.

_"Next, more from an eyewitness, plus we'll go into the Senate chambers, where it appears some have responded to the call to resume their Senate seat and arrived via holo."_

"Hello, lady," Chewie greeted. He stopped at the ramp's edge and sniffed largely. "I'll take her up, just out of orbit, and from there I'll be able to put in some false nav points you'll arrive from as a holo."

"Great, Chewie, thanks. Can you pull up the broadcast please? I want to hear Luke and what else they are saying. I'm going to get ready."

_"-Municar, surprisingly there are seven former Senators here in the Senate chamber attending as holos. The first to arrive was Senator Mon Mothma of Chandrila-"_

A thrill coursed through Leia. Mon Mothma was here! The Alliance had acted quickly indeed. Mothma was a pioneer of the Rebellion, and as it became a full scale war her strength as a politician was not needed as much of those who were military leaders, but her fire had never died.

 _"- she has already taken the floor denouncing the Empire -"_ Leia selected some clothes to wear. Since her status with the Rebel Alliance was still up in the air, she thought better of donning a Rebel uniform. Instead she decided to wear white, the color of her senatorial robes, and had to settle again for one of Han's white shirts.

_" - representatives from Ithor, Naboo, Sullust -"_

"And Alderaan," Leia told the broadcast softly. "After I shower."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Bark borers," Chewie swore under his breath. The view outside the cockpit window was not promising.

It had not been too difficult to leave the planet. The Port Authority was crushed by requests for clearance, as news of the coup got out and caused a bit of panic. But in all, order seemed to prevail as the PA did a fair job maintaining a routine with which most pilots were familiar and happy to comply. Chewie, however, had disdained the queue and took off, squeezing in front of a fleet of corporate transportation ships.

It was what greeted him past planetary atmosphere that had caused a curse to leave his mouth.

_"- the Senators are beseeching everyone to go about their normal routine until -"_

Apparently, an Imperial Star Destroyer had been close enough to reset a course for Coruscant and reach the planet just hours after the coup. Chewie thought of Han and Luke, still at the Palace. "It's not going to be as easy to return," he muttered.

 _" - I'm just concerned the Moffs and Admirals are -"_ Chewie snorted with amusement when he heard Luke as Lieutenant Owen expressing concern for the takeover.

"Here's some salve for you, Chewie." Leia's voice hitched in her throat as she spied the Star Destroyer. Chewie turned and saw her eyes were large and fixated on it. He took the tube of medicated balm she offered from her outstretched hand and rumbled something comforting.

Leia blinked. "I know. It's...it reminded me of when I was captured. This is exactly what I saw when the captain told me. I got this sinking feeling, this terrible thought...of failure. I had failed, the whole effort was failed." She shook herself out of her reverie.

"But you didn't fail, Princess. Remember that," Chewie told her. "You passed that moment, and others have followed."

_" - I mean, the Emperor was more than a symbol. He was the Empire, and if he's gone, then I don't see how-"_

"You're right." Leia nodded to Chewie gratefully. Her despair at being captured had let her fall into a lethargy for a time, until she accepted her fate and desperation led her to act.

"Stay here while I set up a bay," Chewie ordered. "I don't want it to look like you are aboard a ship, particularly this one. I have a tapestry I can hang on a wall, but we'll have to cover a crate to make it look like a chair. Then we can begin your holo transmisison."

_"-reports a Star Destroyer has -"_

"Alright. Will the Destroyer challenge us?"

"They'll be suspicious if we don't lay a course soon. But there's enough traffic for them to monitor right now." Chewie appraised her appreciatively. "I like what you did with your hair."

Leia grinned, and lifted a hand to touch the metallic gold mesh that had wrapped the Puzzle Gems and which still lay discarded in the bay. She had managed to stitch it together and encircled it around her crown, like a half turban. "Does it look like I've been through a lightning fight?"

"You look like a Senator."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The GR-75, despite having safely entered hyperspace, remained on high alert and passengers were not permitted to remove the crash webbing strips that harnessed them across their shoulders and laps to the walls and benches upon which they sat. There was row after row of personnel.

General Rieekan streamed the footage of Solo announcing the death of the Emperor and the fall of his empire continuously as a reminder of what was at stake.

They now were emerging from hyperspace into orbit around Corsucant. Rieekan was aware of reports of the Star Destroyer already in position, but he was leaving how they would evade it to the Admiral on the bridge. He knew enough not to interfere. That was the Admiral's job; his was to get the personnel off the ship and into the city to make sure the streets and space lanes remained safe and riot-free.

 _"We invite the Galactic Alliance to establish control._ "

A cheer went up, and the personnel shouted back, answering Solo, "GA on the way!."

Rieekan shook his head. How many times had they shouted it? Fifty? It occurred to him he could do the math. Calculate how many minutes the loop ran and how long they'd been in space. Divide that and he'd know how many cheerful, patriotic rejoinders of "GA on the way!" he had heard. Rieekan sighed. He was bored.

He got up, knowing no one would remonstrate his ignorance of high alert status to someone of his rank, and went to join Mon Mothma. She had commandeered the crew area to broadcast her holo.

Rieekan stepped into her holo, waving cheerfully at Princess Leia's.

The Princess smiled broadly and returned the wave. Rieekan held his hands up to his head, indicating her hairstyle, and gave her an approving gesture.

"I hope you made it to your destination," Rieekan called, the same time as Mon Mothma asked, "From where are you broadcasting, Princess?"

Leia faltered only a moment. "I did, thank you Carlist." She turned to Mothma. "I had a classified assignment. It was successful." Her eyes held Rieekan's a moment longer, and Rieekan could read the thanks and relief in them. "How far off are you?" she asked.

"We'll be there in thirty," Rieekan answered. He patted Mon Mothma on the shoulder. "Pardon me. I didn't mean to interrupt Session. I only wanted to greet the Princess." He winked at Leia, "See you soon." He returned to his seat at the front of the transport ship's seating area and reattached the crash webbing dutifully.

Forty-two rows back from General Rieekan, Doc Brack and Maranya joined with the rest of the ship, "GA on the way!" Neither were as enthusiastic. The first time the video played, Doc Brack had groaned morosely when he heard Solo announce Yoda's death. It hadn't been easy watching Chewbacca receive a direct lightning blast and it was not pretty watching Solo's face, with the angry red burn across his cheek, deliver his statement. Maranya spent the rest of the journey quietly sobbing, but Doc Brack saw she understood Yoda's sacrifice. She refused to watch the video any more and sat turned sideways on her bench, her face averted, but she would tremulously participate with a weak "GA on the way."

Solo was a familiar face around the bases and he and Skywalker were popular. Command had been clear on the Alliance's lack of participation, but it was taken for granted that Solo, Skywalker, Chewbacca and Yoda had liberated the galaxy. Rumors were flying about the identity of Darth Vader. Some were of the opinion that it was indeed Vader, but Doc Brack and Maranya knew differently. Vader was already dead, so Solo was providing a cover story. At least, that's what Doc Brack hoped. He had his own theory on who could be impersonating the Sith Lord, and he spent the trip fervently praying that the person inside the suit was still alive.

"Prepare for landing," a voice announced over an intercom.

"I hope the landing codes were good and they don't blow us to smithereens," someone behind Doc Brack whispered.

Rieekan turned off the streaming video. "GA on the way!" the passengers shouted one more time.


	47. Chapter 47

One government fell and another was born.

Luke watched from the sidelines.

Right now he was sitting on a chair he had dragged into the ruins of the receiving room of the Palace. The chair came from the waiting room where the furnishings were lush and extraordinarily comfortable. It was a deep red, with narrow bands of stripes that looked pink but were probably another shade of red. He sat quietly, as if he were waiting for something, his feet flat on the floor, and his lips were pursed as he considered the patch of upholstery visible on the seat between his lap.

Luke had never been one for colors. His sister Leia, of course, was well-versed in them. As a Princess and Senator colors denoted symbols and emotions. This chair was not simply two shades of red to her, even though that's what it was to him. He saw it simply - one was dark and the other light. _She would see – what?_ he considered. _Blood, violence?_ Would the Emperor see the same? Is that why the Emperor chose red? Did he deliberately wish to display his anger and blood thirst? Or had that been done subconsciously? And why hadn't the rest of the galaxy picked up on these color cues?

Leia knew garnet, ruby, and scarlet reds; she could name burgundy and merlot and cabernet and cherry and rose. So many shades. Some were dark and could fill you with foreboding; others seemed cheerful and innocent, like a child. She spoke in shades, too, and that's what made her such a good politician. Words that carried certain connotations; nuances of meaning C-3PO's mechanical vocabulary couldn't inflect in his own speech.

Luke had roamed around the Palace, exploring, but kept returning here, to the ruins. It was the room where it had all happened. _What, exactly?_ he considered again. _Triumph, victory?_ He moved his head, holding it an an angle over his shoulder, and considered his chair again. _Achievement?_ The Emperor had thought he'd had victory more then twenty years ago but obviously not everyone shared his view. _Accomplishment_ , he decided. Accomplishment seemed a sterile word; it didn't have the foreboding of blood nor the romance of rose. _Twenty-three years_ , he counted to himself. _Not really a long time._

His gaze lifted, scanning the ruins and the battle that had taken place. The room was blackened; scarred. The media had stopped coming in here. They had lost interest in it when the focus shifted from takeover to renewal. That was as it should be, Luke knew. But the room offered an odd sense of comfort for him. There had been violence and danger but there had been camaraderie and redemption.

They had made their accomplishment. _And now what?_ Luke wondered. _What will become of this room?_ It was the last time they had all been together: he, Han, Leia, Chewie and Yoda. Now they were separated, off to their own individual tasks. Han was here, somewhere, in hiding. Luke hadn't seen him since the media swarm after the coup statement got out. Chewie had assisted Leia in getting off planet so she could start being a Senator. She was wearing white again; he had seen her in the holos during the news coverage. Luke himself had continued with his ruse as Lieutenant Owen. His portrayal of the open and earnest Imperial officer had done its part in allowing the public to view the takeover as a positive thing, but the media had tired of him quickly and seemed to have little use for him anymore.

Four days had passed. Luke didn't know how Han was faring in the Palace; where he slept or how he was passing the time. He didn't get a strong sense of pain or discomfort; mainly if he could access his friend he felt frustration or boredom. He would have liked to be able to spend the time together, but Han was in the media spotlight as either liberator or terrorist, and Luke couldn't risk being seen with him.

And so he had made himself useful as a kind of guide for the media as well as the public mood. He showed them physical evidence but guided how they should think and feel about it. He brought them in the ruins, made sure they saw the sumptuousness of the Emperor's guest areas. He harped on the Emperor's lightning in the security footage and personified the Empire as the Emperor. The media had picked up on his subtle directions of thought and now had the Emperor under scrutiny. In the light of his own lightning, the Emperor's extravagance and manic arrogance made the deposed government seem self-serving and hostile.

It was a small job, nothing like being a Senator or Liberator, but it was effective, and now it seemed there was little left for him to do. It was just as well, Luke thought. He was weary of the role. He had used the Force to provide a kind of disguise for himself so that he wouldn't be recognized but he was ready to go back to being Luke Skywalker.

Lieutenant Owen couldn't share in the victory like Luke wanted to. He didn't want to be known as the man who destroyed the Emperor with golden lightning, and he hoped the story didn't get out. But he did want to be with those he'd shared the same hopes and dreams for so long. He wanted to enjoy a relaxed celebration of pride, joy, amazed disbelief. Most of all, he wanted to be with the ones who had been in this room with him earlier, with Leia, Han and Chewie. He needed their friendship, their family. It surprised him, this loneliness. He realized he was staying in here to be close to them.

He sighed, and rose from his comfortable seat. Perhaps it was time to leave Lieutenant Owen behind. Luke Skywalker was ready to join the New Republic.

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One government fell and another was born.

It was hard work.

 _Twenty-three years,_ Leia thought, her hands clasped restfully in her lap. _Not a long time, but a lot to undo._

Sometimes the Senate acted swiftly and decisively. Trade embargoes were lifted, blockades recalled. Slavery was outlawed. The Imperial crest was ordered removed. Government was restored to planetary levels and outlines for membership to the New Republic were established.

Simple enough to enact, but how to enforce?

They broke into committees: budget, armed forces, economic development, social restructuring...so many. Leia brought in the Committee for the Displaced and they presented their casework on Tatooine, which became a model of social reform for the systems that would welcome home liberated slaves.

Sometimes the Senate was mired in details and hotly debated arguments. Imperial credits, it was decided, would be replaced with a new currency system and these New Republic credits would be devalued, spurring investment by planets and spending by the populaces of the worlds, boosting galactic economy. But when should this take effect? What should the new credits look like? What should the symbol of the New Republic be?

Sometimes Leia was so proud of her compatriots. How swiftly they responded to the New Republic. Thirty-seven were now in physical presence, and another thirty-two were still holos. Each newly arrived Senator was given the floor, allowing a certain amount of time to introduce their planet to the others, denounce the old government, and pledge allegiance to the new one. The speeches were invigorating, inspiring.

Sometimes Leia wanted to scream at them in frustration. Four hours spent on what the new credits would look like!

The media streamed the Senate session as a live broadcast continuously. They broke three times a day for a maximum period of four hours each, depending on developments, to rest and to eat; and Leia saw on the holos the empty seats or a dozing Senator. During the rest periods the media might return to the coup itself, re-airing footage of the Emperor hurling lightning at Han.

They still had not identified him, and the Senate seemed just as eager to learn the true motivation of the Liberator, as they now called Han. He had not come forward, nor had he been apprehended, though efforts were continuing.

She was still in space, attending as a holo. Chewie was careful to wait until tensions eased in space. Orbit over the planet was full of arriving Star Destroyers and Alliance vessels. He told her they would attempt a return to Coruscant when the next four hour break approached. It could not come soon enough.

A Senator from Naboo lobbied for a metals firm to win the contract to mint the new credits. Leia sat in her seat, her hands clasped restfully in her lap and her chin almost touching her chest. She noted a presence standing before her.

"I'm Luke Skywalker," Luke told her. "I'm here to rescue you."

Leia smiled gently. She could never forget her introduction with Luke on the Death Star, as hurried and absurd and disconnected as it was. He wasn't dressed as a storm trooper this time, but in his Kwilaan lieutenant's uniform. Han stood behind him, dressed as the captain, tossing a small black ball in the air and catching it on his palm, a languid grin on his face.

"I can't play now," she told them. "I'm working."

"This ain't working," Han told her, stepping forward and applying pressure to her elbow until she stood. "Come on, Princess, you gotta get out there."

"Out there?" she echoed, following Luke to the exit door. They stepped through, and Leia gasped. "Alderaan," she exclaimed. It was here, all of it. When she'd bumped into Alderaan on the Death Star it had been glimpses, pieces. The gems, her bed, the beach. Now it was all spread out before her: the sky, a blue from her memory; the grass, green and peppered with little yellow flowers that were visited by tiny buzzing insects; the smell of the air, the warmth of the sun, the call of the birds overhead.

They were at a ball field. Dodeca Ball, Leia recognized. A childhood sport that simulated war and conquest. Han was in the center of the field, on the mound that symbolized the instigating planet. "From Naboo," he called to Luke.

Han rolled the black ball and Luke kicked it. "To Coruscant!" Luke answered. It seemed hard, and Leia wanted to know if it hurt Luke's foot. But he started to run, grabbing her hand, as Han chased after the ball.

"Come on," Luke urged gleefully. "We're playing Dodeca Ball. Run the planets. We've got to get back to home. We can score if we touch all twelve!"

They ran together, shrieking, while Luke called out the name of each of the Core planets they ran past, watching as Han finally caught up to the ball and stopped its roll by jumping in front of it. He waved it at them, his laughter spanning the distance and Leia thought it such a nice sound; she hadn't heard him laugh like that in a long time. He trotted back to them and they all collapsed in a happy heap on the ground, breathing heavily and smiling to the sky.

 _Alderaan_ , Leia said to herself. _I fell asleep. I'm dreaming. I'm going to wake up now._

"I won't see it again, will I?" she asked Luke and Han. They looked sadly at her. "This is my last time."

Han showed her the ball. It was a miniature Death Star. "Want me to throw it in the lake?"

Leia shook her head. "No. I'll take it." She held her hand out and he placed it in her palm. It was heavy, and hard, it's trenches and weapons port miniaturized. She turned to Luke. "You kicked this?"

He nodded somberly. "It was hard," he told her. "A difficult target. But I did it."

"Hey," Han protested good-naturedly. "Don't forget I pitched it to you."

"Yeah, you sent it right to me," Luke grinned. "Present are you."

Leia sat up, watching three birds fly overhead. She burned their image into her memory. "I can't come back," she told the birds.

"You got what you came for," Han said.

"Did I?" she asked, while a sardonic wrenching tore at her. Her eyes followed the birds to a tree, and she watched a moment as they flitted to various branches, just being birds. "I don't know that I'd choose this again."

"This is what it cost," Han curled her fingers around the ball in her hand.

She nodded at it. "Was there another way?" she asked Luke.

He shook his head at her. "No."

Han gestured to the sky. "And this wasn't all your choosing," he said. "You weren't the only one. There were lots more players. You just got involved. Each one chose a path, and caused a reaction. So even if there was another way, it doesn't matter because it's not what happened."

She put her palm lightly on his cheek. "How did you get so wise?"

He shrugged and his eyes smiled at her. "Yoda."

Luke laughed. "Yoda," he repeated, his voice full of emotion.

"I'm waking up," she told the pair.

Luke and Han accepted her decision. "Okay," they said.

Leia's head snapped up. Guiltily she looked around, placing her palms on her thighs and checked the chrono at her work station. The Senator from Naboo was still speaking.

She held on as long as she could, held on to the smells and sounds of Alderaan. _I still have Luke and Han._ She wished they were here beside her. She missed them. She hadn't spoken with either in four days, and with all that had happened during that time it felt like a lifetime.

It was decided the Senator from Naboo had no personal ties to the metals firm, and it was approved that the new currency, an image of the map of the galaxy imbedded inside, would be minted, with distribution set for seven day's time. The four hour break was called.

 _Thank the Force._ Leia disconnected her holo image and went to find Chewie. It was time to return to Coruscant and hopefully be reunited with Luke and Han.

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One government fell and another was born.

Chewie waited with the infinite patience of a Wookiee. This was a turbulent time, but in his more than two centuries of life he had seen it before, and he knew the momentum would die out, that it would gradually slow to a quiet, from unrest and uncertainty to a new way of life.

He remained in the cockpit for four days, just outside of Coruscant's orbit, while the ship quietly drifted. He did not speak to the Princess much. He needed to keep watch and she was busy, in Senate session, appearing as a holo image from one of the bays of the _Falcon_. He dared not interrupt her then and she spent the breaks sleeping. She brought him things to eat and drink, but was preoccupied. He had to remind her that she needed to eat as well.

He watched, his Wookiee eyes burning bitterly. Yes, he had seen this before. Watched one government fall and became a slave to the one that rose from the ashes.

Twenty-three years. Strange to think that this was just ten percent of his life, yet it had been the most difficult.

The waiting was like being on the hunt, just waiting for the prey to flush itself out of the brush. He waited from the cockpit, watching ships armed with more fire power than needed suddenly appear on the horizon.

Sharing the same space but not being able to talk to the Princess much made him feel isolated, and he sat and stared down at the planet, following events on the holonews and wondering about Luke and Han. He followed the Senate debates and he listened to the pro-Imperialist attack on Han for his part in the battle.

The Moffs were calling for the capture of the Liberator, whom they deemed a terrorist and mass murderer. This disturbed Chewie a little, as it was his duty to make sure Han remained safe.

It was one thing to call him a terrorist. Chewie could understand that viewpoint; it made sense from the Imperial side. It was also a little comical, he had to admit, that they were associating Han with the Force because he used the lightsaber. But to judge his past and his intents because of his background, because of his appearance….it was not only condescending, it was downright inflammatory, inciting mobs on the planet who tried to get access to the Palace.

One of the Moffs had the bright idea of identifying Han by using Chewie's appearance alongside Yoda and Vader. But then he had ruined it, insulting all Wookiees from every tribe, by declaring there was no discerning one Wookiee from another; that they all looked alike.

Chewie had applauded the Senator from his own world, who was barely restrained and demanded the Moff be brought before him so he could tear him limb from limb.

It was Princess Leia who quieted all Wookiees. She froze the holo footage on an image of Chewie and asked everyone to look from the Kashyykian Senator to the liberating Wookiee. Everyone could see that Chewie was a more russet color, that the fur around the Senator's face was blonder, that his dark stripe over his brow started lower.. He had wanted to rush into the space of her hologram and hug her when she told the Senate body, "This Imperialist attitude does not demean a Wookiee, as it couldn't be more clear how different an individual is from another. But it demeans the speaker. This Moff has demonstrated, with one blanket statement uttered in complete ignorance and stupidity, the basis on which the Empire was built. I assure you," Leia bowed respectfully to the Wookiee Senator, "that not all humans think alike. Please accept our apology. This human is uneducated, but this can be rectified."

Chewie was proud of her. He hoped Han and Luke had a chance to hear her too, and wished they were in the cockpit with him, stomping their feet and shouting approval.

He scratched at the healing skin on his chest and abdomen, rubbing the new fur growing in. It felt coarse and stiff, but he knew it would soften as it lengthened. He hoped Han had been able to find some salve for his burns. He sympathized with his partner; Chewie didn't like it up here, idle and useless for four days, and he knew Han would probably tear the rest of his hair out that hadn't been burned away from sheer boredom.

 _Maybe Luke has been able to get with him_ , Chewie reflected, though he knew that was not likely. He smiled a little, thinking of Luke and his alter ego, Lieutenant Owen. Luke had managed to walk a fine line in portraying Owen as not really surrendering, but not really defecting either. He had expressed awe and dismay at the same time, grief and hope, allowing his audience to assimilate change. _He's come so far,_ Chewie reminisced, thinking of the day Luke had barely registered Yoda's Force presence to just four days ago, when he had fired golden lightning from his hands. _Power rests best in a gentle soul,_ Chewie affirmed, thinking of a Wookiee saying.

Star Destroyers arrived and the Galactic Alliance arrived, and Chewie kept the Falcon out of the way as they occupied space over Coruscant, watching each other, waiting for the other to blink. Outright war had seemed imminent, but no Tie fighters emerged from the Star Destroyers and the X and Y wings of the Alliance fleet stayed motionless, and now after four days tensions were high but the populace below on Coruscant was relaxing that wreckage would not fall from the sky. 

The Moffs aboard the Star Destroyers were making it easy for the Princess and the other members of the Senate. They met clandestinely, away from the ears and eyes of the media and spies, lacking leadership but brimming with greed, and almost immediately split off into factions. Chewie shook his head. Several had defected to join the New Republic and the others were fighting themselves. _Sit back and wait,_ Chewie advised the Galactic Alliance from his seat in the cockpit. _You won't have to lift a finger against them. They'll do it for you._

The timing felt right that he would venture a return to Coruscant air space as soon as Leia stopped the holo transmission for the four hour break.

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One government fell and another was born.

Han took a breath and submerged his head below the water of the bath.

He was in the Emperor's personal chambers. He'd been cooped up in here for the last four days. He figured it was the safest place. He and Luke had disabled the security cameras and ensured the doors only opened for only themselves, so he knew no one would come in here.

It was very posh, very. The shimmer silk sheets felt cool and smooth against the burns on his arms and back, the bath had an enriching soap and cold water and there was some very nice artwork he enjoyed looking at. Two of the walls were one way glass, and Han had a sweeping view of Coruscant's busy air traffic buzzing around the stately buildings. The glass was cool against his burnt cheek and he would stand there a long time, his cheek pressed against the window, watching the traffic and wondering where the _Falcon_ was.

Food was a problem. For some reason, no droid entered. Han supposed Palpatine had a personal attendant of some kind, a human possibly, who waited on him and who had disappeared during the takeover. He wouldn't put it past the Emperor to not trust droids. There was a bowl of fruit on a table and three bottles of a rare and expensive brandy on a counter. A water conversion unit was attached to a sink and inside was full of ice. Han crunched ice and ate fruit and only sipped delicately at the brandy, though it was delicious; smooth and velvety. He would have liked to indulge but thought it best he keep his wits about him. _When I leave here,_ he resolved. _I'll take a bottle to share with the others. Get Luke drunk._ He hoped that at least Luke was getting food.

He brought his head out of the water, just to his chin. He opened and closed his mouth, like a filtering trap. Then he expelled the water, blowing it out in a spray. His eyes flicked to the holo screen in the corner. He had turned the sound off but had activated the speech-to-text option.

Relievedly, he saw the cameras were on the Senate now. It gave him such a strange feeling to see his own face on the holo news and how much they discussed him. He had stopped listening to their analysis and examination of his character, when they didn't even know his name. It bordered on ridiculous. They just needed something to say; something to fill the dead air.

He had listened enough to know he needed to lay low until things calmed down. The pro-Imperialists were calling for his capture, and he didn't want to fall in the hands of a mob.

Now the news was reporting Mon Mothma had been appointed Acting Chancellor of Reconstruction. _Good for her,_ he muttered to himself distractedly, searching for Leia as the camera swept the Senate body. No doubt Mothma had expected this. She had embraced the concept of Rebellion before Leia was even born, so the title, though temporary, was a kind of acknowledgment from her peers, maybe even a payment of some type. Mothma had not put herself on the front lines as Leia had, and had remained safe in hiding, but still had been a vocal opponent of Palpatine's since the Empire's inception.

He had to admire her. To keep up that energy, that passion, for as long as she had. Just how long was it? Han's grasp of time was slippery. He walked across the bath, staying crouched so as to keep his shoulders under the cold water. He'd been a boy. The fall of the Old Republic and the fleeing of Corellia's Senator had been big news on his home planet. He remembered that everyone talked about it on the streets, remembered women crying. It had actually been a good day to be a street waif. Everyone was so preoccupied and distracted that no one noticed him reaching into pockets and purses.

He pushed water forward with his hands and watched it bounce against the bath wall. He recalled feeling at odds. His belly was so full but his society was crumbling. He'd never felt a part of that society and in his immaturity perceived it as just.

 _I'm in my thirties now. Society's been crumblin' a long time._ But he felt he'd journeyed far, found a place in another society. First with Chewie, a rootless Wookiee, then with Leia and Luke and the Rebellion.

He'd like to show them the bath. Leia would love it and Luke would be amazed by it. Chewie wouldn't use it, but Han could picture him reclining in pleasure on the shimmer silk sheets.

Han eyed the bowl of fruit. Just two pieces left. He wondered what the Moffs would do if they knew he was holed up in their old boss' chambers. _They'd peel my hide,_ he decided. And what of the Liberator? That reputation would die quickly. He'd become the self-serving mercenary others had put forth as his motivation.

 _Ah, screw it,_ Han thought. _I'm leavin' when the fruit's gone._

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The Galactic Alliance's presence on Coruscant grew from orbiting the planet to sending personnel dirstide. General Rieekan operated his debriefing room in the lower levels of the Palace. The place was huge. On the outside two whole blocks spanning miles of sky, but on the inside not all of it was used. It seemed the lower levels had been abandoned. Droids were the only occupants, armed and constantly on patrol to keep out squatters.

Rieekan had a feeling he would see Princess Leia soon. He'd had one of the techs latch on to the galactic position of her holo transmission, but suspected it was phony. It indicatedshe was outside Sullust. No, he shook his head. She wasn't broadcasting from there. She couldn't be; not when she'd been missing from there when the coup occurred.

But it was the Wookiee who came first. Rieekan had been given word that the _Millennium Falcon_ had landed in the city's docking port, so he was not surprised, but he was surprised he arrived alone. He expected Solo, or perhaps the Princess. They would need to question him. How had he managed to leave the planet after appearing before the Emperor as a prisoner? Rieekan called for C-3PO to translate. The Wookiee was enjoying himself, snarling and barking and acting just menacing enough to keep staff at a distance. Rieekan sighed. Obviously the four were going to remain tight-lipped.

Then Princess Leia appeared, as if on cue, waving off attempts at debriefing the Wookiee, dismissing the services of the protocol droid, and assuring staff she would take the Wookiee's statement as a member of the High Council. She was beaming, somehow elegant in a casual white belted shirt-dress. She greeted Rieekan with a kiss on the cheek, told him it was a job well done, and that she would attend Senate sessions in person. She lingered though, as if she knew there would be more.

Skywalker was next. He was calm, relaxed, and went to join the Princess and Wookiee, turning expectantly as if more would join their party. Reekan knew then Solo was coming.

"General, we have a report. Solo is in custody." Rieekan turned to see the tech tap on his earpiece, as if seeking to validate the information he heard from it. Solo apparently had turned himself in. Just appeared in front of an investigative crew from the Alliance, nonchalant and cheerful, asking for General Rieekan. He was unarmed and clean shaven, and Rieekan wondered vaguely how the Corellian had been spending the last four days, to look relatively refreshed despite recent wounds of battle and being in hiding.

They brought him in moments later, cuffed for the media's sake and surrounded by members of Rieekan's men, keeping him safe from angry Imperialist supporters.

Rieekan watched curiously as a genuine smile spread across Solo's face. His pace quickened and he shook off his escorts, marching straight into the huddle that was a Wookiee, a Princess and a Jedi. The four closed their circle, smiling, sobbing, laughing and hooting. They fell to the floor in a huddle, and it was like there was no one else in the room.

Rieekan chewed on his cheek. He knew nothing, but he'd known it all along. There was a lot more to this coup than met the eye, and both his eyes were looking at the four of them. He had told Skywalker the Alliance could have nothing to do with taking down the Emperor, and political circumstances necessitated preserving that position. The Princess served on the Council; Skywalker was a resigned commissioned officer. Solo and his copilot had contracted their services with the Alliance. Having prior knowledge of Skywalker's intent left Rieekan with more questions than the media was asking, but he knew he had to help maintain their public version of events and present an official history. That was his duty as a soldier. As a man, as a friend, he hoped they could trust him with the truth.

He interrupted them. Strode up to Princess Leia and offered her a debriefing room. It was four levels up, a room he had encountered during his own explorations of the Palace. It must have been used as a conference room, possibly a small dining room. There was a long table with comfortable chairs that rocked and swiveled. Two droids awaited activation at each end of a piece of furniture that, if he were on Alderaan, he would have termed a credenza.

"You still have three hours before Senate reconvenes," he told her with a wink. "Why don't you debrief Skywalker, Solo and Chewbacca in here?" He spread his arm out, showing her the room that looked like business but could easily become social. "Celebrate," he whispered.

She smiled in answer. "Former Commander Skywalker," she pronounced almost formerly, "Captain Solo and Chewbacca. Please," she gestured for them to enter. "Have a seat."

She did not invite Rieekan in and the door shut behind them, cutting off Chewbacca's partying howl.

 


	48. Chapter 48

Their steps echoed on the hard stone floor, making the Jedi Temple sound hollow. Decades-old dust swirled above and around, disturbed by their presence.

Leia looked at the trail of bright, clean foot prints left by Luke, his boot soles cleaning the dirt as he walked, spotlighting the path he trod.

"Thanks for coming with me," he said to her again.

She nodded solemnly, taking in the cavernous surroundings. She turned her face upward, her eyes seeking the weak light of the planet's day that filtered in from holes in the wall and roof. "I wanted to see it, too," she told him. "And I needed a break from all that deliberating and sitting."

He gave her a brotherly grin; not sympathetic but understanding nevertheless. She was the Princess after all, and he was just the Farm Boy. They were twins, born the same moment, yet their backgrounds could not have been more different. He did not hold it against her. In fact, he wasn't sure he would switch places with her if given the chance.

 _She'd have made a good farm hand_ , he reflected. _Would I have made a good Prince? Made Bail Organa proud?_ Somehow, Luke didn't think so. From what he knew of Leia's early life, it was filled with tutors, training, formality and procedure. She probably had very little privacy or time to herself, and that was something his aunt and uncle respected and allowed, no matter how much they carped on his work ethic.

She wore the black leggings again, and in the Alliance-issued jacket and short black boots she looked like she was dressed for a hike. It seemed she and Luke never had much clothing that was their own. They had to borrow or were just issued uniforms.

 _She's always manages to look put-together,_ he thought. Even her hair, which had been ruined in the battle, looked planned. Chewie had trimmed the one side to even out the length from what had been burned away, and now it only came down to her nape. She wore a broad headband she had fashioned from cutting up one of Han's shirts, and it flounced her hair from underneath, giving her a careless, yet chic style.

She had brought him some clothes off the Falcon and he had changed into something that was Luke: neither Alliance pilot nor Imperial imposter. It was a mix of the two thrown in together with something of Han's for good measure.

Would she have developed such a work ethic on Tatooine, with the drudgery of moisture farming? Luke wondered. It was an interesting thought to him. It was so hot on Tatooine, making a body slump with exertion just walking to each condenser unit. And the work was so repetitive. It got boring, really.

The image of his Aunt Beru sprang to mind, pouring him some blue milk from a pitcher. For the first time he found he did not ache with regret when thinking of her. He saw her as he had in life, shaking her head affectionately, telling him she was waiting for him to find himself.

 _I did, Beru. I found myself._ He was heartened to think of her as cheery, not burning and terrified and dying.

The Force allowed this. She forgave her death because she was enveloped once more in the Force. _Or is it I who forgives her death?_

Luke halted, little puffs of dust rising with the suddenness of his motion.

"What is it?" Leia asked. She kept her voice hushed, almost reverential. "Do you sense something?"

He shook his head. "No. It's what I don't sense."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you see when you look around?" Luke asked her.

Leia inhaled, her eyes gazing past what was in front of them. "Scars. A place untouched." And it was just that, a place. A witness, too, Leia reflected. But it was a building; a building that had undergone a terrible assault. Lives were inside it when it happened, and the lives were gone. "There are no bodies," she said, feeling chilled.

"But do you feel it?" he pressed her. "Their deaths. Because I don't. There's tenderness here, and compassion. But I know this place was left just as it was the night of the Purge. How many died here that night?"

"I don't know," Leia shook her head.

"And so many innocents. Children. Yoda told me some kids would have been no more than three years old."

"Our father did this," Leia said softly.

"Can you feel it?" he repeated.

"Some," she admitted. "It's like the building is in shock. I don't sense any single life print, just the building as a whole." She looked at him. "They all became one with the Force?" Leia reached out to stroke a wall. The building could not join the Force, but the Force was here, on display, bearing witness.

Luke nodded ardently. "I have to be careful."

"Careful of what?"

"Of how the Force and I move together. I'm standing here, where something so horrible occurred, and I feel...gentle. Loved. I have to be _really_ careful," he realized. "It's like I'm one star in the entire galaxy, and from that perspective everything else is infinitely huge. I think that's what happened to Yoda. Everything becomes so insignificant, you stop reacting to it, because, really, nothing matters in the Force. It's just so big. It's everything." "

Like a rock tumbled in the waves," Leia murmured. She had approached the Force with more resistance than Luke had ever shown, and consequently had not plumbed its depths. _Or is it scaled its heights?_ she wondered. She no longer felt resistant, or guarded, but she didn't see herself becoming enlightened as Luke had done. She did not want that for herself. He was a Jedi, a Master even, but she had no ambition to immerse herself in the Force arts.

"Huh?" Luke asked, confused.

Leia's face split into a smile. "My water analogy means nothing to you, does it? Okay, how about, a rock eroded by the wind. It becomes smooth, and polished."

"More like whittles it down and turns it into a tiny grain of sand," Luke told her. "But I know what you mean. When we opened ourselves up to the Force like that, or me anyway, I…sort of left the living. I have to be careful," he reminded himself for the third time. "I can't forget the living."

"You're alive yourself," Leia said. "I'd hate for you to forget that. You wouldn't be my brother." She began to think aloud, "Life may be a part of the Force, but it's also something that stands on its own, too. Don't you think?"

Luke nodded. "I was thinking of my aunt earlier, and how I found her in the Force, and how I'm not as sad when I think of her now. But you're right – just because she's part of the energy of the Force now, of existence- which brings me a sense of peace- it doesn't take away from how she died in Life. I shouldn't forget that."

"And what would happen to Life," Leia continued to muse, "if we didn't react? Are we saying it doesn't matter how you live? How you die? The beings here, and your aunt, need someone in Life to stand up for them, to demand justice, to protest their manner of death."

He felt Leia was onto something. "It seems there's no wrong or right in the Force, but there has to be in Life."

"Dark or Light?"

"No," Luke contradicted. "That's the Force again. It's not right or wrong. But it's how it's used by beings, in Life, that others consider right or wrong." It was an important realization to absorb, and Luke moved his eyes along their footprints, struggling to add it to his philosophy.

"Is that why you asked Han to be on your Council?" Leia asked.

"I didn't know he told you." Luke felt his cheeks color a bit.

Han had served as a kind of sounding board for Luke and the ideas he was trying to formulate for his future and the Jedi. Luke had absolutely no experience with building something from the ground up. It again highlighted the difference between how he and Leia were raised. She would know everything to consider while he felt himself stumbling along. "I explained it really poorly to him. I guess I was slowly coming to this realization. I had that idea a while back, and now I'm seeing it's even more important. I asked him because...well, he's become my opposite. He's always reacting; never sits down and plans or meditates. He's in the here and now, and I think Force users move away too easily."

Leia smiled gently. "Present is he."

"Yeah." Luke answered with his own grin. "He said no. But I'll find someone. Probably more than one. I'm still not sure how many to have on the Council. Maybe we'll find the council chambers here and I can see how many there were during the time of the Jedi."

They stood in silence a moment, lost in their own thoughts. Then Luke tossed her a conspiratorial grin. "You helped me learn something today." He squatted down and moved the thick layer of dust around with his finger. "There," he said, as Leia placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Yoda's favorite sketch," Leia murmured as she recognized Luke's drawing in the dust. It was the simple lines of the Jedi Temple's spire.

"That's our message. We'll let him know we were here." He stood, feeling his knee crack. "Which way do you want to go?"

Leia glanced to the left and right, then chose straight, moving them along a wide expanse that was a sort of hallway, lined with pillars and statuary.

"It must have been lovely in here," she commented.

Walking alongside her, their sleeves almost touching, Luke nodded. The Temple was a rambling place. Pathways led off in one direction and then might stop or taken one down an entirely different path. _Just like the way I see the Force move around me._ To simulate the Force in the design was an architectural feat. "No one's been in here since it happened, I think," was all he said.

"No, you can tell by all the dust. Not even any squatters. And no security."

"Didn't that officer tell Han Palpatine ordered it to be a monument?"

"Yes," Leia recalled. "He did. And it is, but it's a monument to the Purge, to himself. Not the Jedi."

They explored for a while. The Jedi Temple was its own little city. It contained places for its residents to eat, sleep, learn, and play. Nothing was left untouched or undamaged; it was all in a shambles. Such a shame, Leia thought. Luke and Leia did their best to remove the scorn and disregard just by touching the Temple with their presence. They found a terraced courtyard that jutted out over one side. It was open, with low walls that really were seats and no roof.

"I think this must have been a garden," Leia observed, brushing off a bench with her elbow sleeve and sitting. "They even made sure to kill everything in here," Luke said quietly, noting the blackened trunk of what was once a woody shrub and the empty planters.

"Without care, I'm not sure much could have survived without the Jedi, even if Palpatine's agents did leave it be," Leia remarked. "This planet isn't conducive anymore for things to sprout on their own."

"How did he live with himself?" Luke burst out.

"Vader?"

"Anakin."

Leia shrugged at his correction of the name. "I suppose if you're capable of doing this much evil you're capable of living with yourself."

"How could he not see?" Luke's voice rose a little in anger. "To do this much killing, to save one life." He held his finger up. "One. You know," he spoke in slow realization, "he went Dark before the Emperor asked him to. All by himself. For him to consider that one life was worth more than any others, to consider to do _anything_ to save her, he was already twisted."

Leia nodded. They were quiet once again while Luke took a seat next to Leia. He tucked his hands under his thighs and began to kick his legs. Anakin Skywalker weighed heavily on his mind. He had lived here. Trained here. Then he had killed here. "And he was our father," he echoed what she had said earlier.

Leia nodded again. "We can't let that form us," she said. "Han says we're not lucky enough to choose our families."

That brought a small smile of comfort to Luke. "Did you know on Corellia, when I thought he wasn't showing me the sights, he chased after a pick pocket?"

Leia shook her head, keen to hear the story. "No, I hadn't heard about it."

"A kid bumped into me on the street," Luke related. "And Han gave a yell and turned back to grab him, when all of a sudden the kid took off, so Han went after him."

"Did you follow too?" Leia turned her face to be able to look Luke in the eye.

Luke shrugged. "What else was I going to do? I hadn't realized I'd been pick pocketed, and I didn't know my way around. I didn't want to lose sight of Han."

"Then what happened?"

"I chased after Han while he chased the kid and finally he caught him by the scruff of the neck. He couldn't have been more than ten years old. Han made him empty his pockets, and give me back my credits."

"Was the boy mad?" "Yes, resentful as all hells. I didn't understand his Corellian, but I sure got his tone. We were all mad." Luke gave a silent laugh, remembering two grown men and a boy on the street, arguing with each other. "I think Han was more mad that the kid marked me while I was walking next to him. I think it insulted him."

Leia smiled. "You're ruining his tough-guy image," she teased.

"Oh well," Luke joked.

"Did the boy have shoes?" Leia asked curiously.

Luke flinched back from her in amazement. "Now what makes you ask that?"

She answered with a slight shrug. "Something Han once told me about his childhood."

"Because they talked about shoes," Luke broke in. "I think. They were talking in Corellian, but there was a moment when they were both looking down, and the kid held up the one foot where his shoe was held in place by tying something around it."

"Poor kids," Leia murmured. "I wish there was an easy way to help them."

Luke was following his own train of thought. "You know, I don't know for sure, but I think Han pick pocketed the kid in reverse."

Leia was shocked. "You mean he stole from the boy?"

"No, I mean I think he slipped him some credits. He was kinda manhandling him, you know? And then later, when we went to eat, he didn't have any credits and he made me buy."

"Really," Leia commented, intrigued. "Do you think the boy would have been upset to receive money by someone just giving it to him?"

"I bet he wouldn't show he was grateful," Luke said. "Probably he'd still resent us, for catching him and then he wouldn't want us pitying him either. I bet Han was just trying to save face."

"Whose," Leia said dryly. "His own, or the boy's?"

Luke got a goofy grin on his face. "I wonder what the kid thought when he found the extra money." He checked his chrono. "How much time do you have?"

Leia checked her own chrono. "Senate reconvenes in one hour twenty."

"We should get you back, then."

Leia made no move to leave her seat on the garden bench.

"Shouldn't we?" Luke pressed. "You have to change. Or are you skipping session?

" Leia pressed her back against the bench, straightening her torso and craning her neck to the sky. She let out a large sigh. "Mon Mothma was tipped off by a holonews reporter about a scoop. It'll be released during tonight's news."

"Yeah?" Luke asked in a tone encouraging her to continue. "What about?"

Leia lowered her chin to her chest. "They made an ID on Han."

"Oh." Luke considered that the news didn't seem to match Leia's body language. "That's not a surprise, is it?"

"I think I ruined his life," she said with a mournful smile.

That was the last thing Luke expected to hear from her. "What?" he exclaimed. "Why do you say that?"

She tossed her hands in the air. "Because," she stated. "We never have time to think things through. We just stay one step ahead and there's always another fire to put out." She sighed heavily again. "I knew it had to be either you or him, and I thought he'd be better equipped to handle it."

Luke lifted one shoulder. "Okay. So you knew in advance you were facing this, and you made your decision. What's so bad about it? Should it have been me?"

"No," she sighed. "You have the Order to rebuild, and someday, maybe, it'll get out about our parentage, and that would complicate matters ten thousand fold. Fingers crossed it never will. But you'll have enough on your plate trying to build support."

"If you say so," Luke said dubiously. Leia seemed to think there was a stigma about being Force sensitive. Luke hadn't really encountered it. He knew Han once held a low opinion of the Force, calling it mumbo jumbo, but others didn't. His fellow pilots of Rogue Squadron used to tell him stories about the fabled Jedi of the Clone Wars, their voiced imbued with awe and adventure.

"But I don't understand what's so bad about them tagging Han," he said. "You don't think he can handle it?"

She waved her hand again. "He's in for it, Luke. They''ll smear him all over the place. His childhood. They'll have his Navy record. And the criminal record," she listed. "And they'll learn about the Medal of Bravery and the Battle of Yavin."

Luke considered everything she mentioned. "It sounds like a bunch of contradictions."

"They'll connect him with the Alliance," Leia continued, "with Mon Mothma, and with me. Two Senators."

"Is that what's bothering you? That Mon Mothma got thrown under the speeder?" Luke considered that perhaps Leia's mentor Mothma, now Interim Chancellor, would suffer some fallout and was probably now sweating in her office. It was ironic. What should have been the end of her career, rebelling against the Empire two decades ago, had in fact catapulted her status to past that of mere politician; she was regarded as more an idealist and visionary. Now, in some ways her ties to Han Solo had dirtied her hands. She had plummeted back to politician and the jaded attitude attributed to politics: self-serving, conniving, scheming.

"I don't know," Leia said despairingly. "She can probably brush it off, say she was in hiding and never on base and never met him. They'll connect me, though."

"That puts you in a tough spot," Luke consoled.

"He's being brought before the Senate for questioning, to sort of proact on the news story before it hits," Leia told him.

"What can it mean for you?"

Leia shrugged. "Not just me. The whole Alliance will need to distance themselves from Han."

Luke brought his lips together, perplexed that Leia was not separating herself from the entity that was the Alliance. "I still don't see how you're ruining his life. I see how it makes things difficult for the Alliance, but we did what we could to remove them from it, and it's not the Alliance that took out the Emperor, or is it them forming the basis of the new government. It's the old Senate."

Leia nodded, indicating impatiently she already understood this. She rose in silent signal to Luke that they needed to leave the Temple. "He won't be able to enlist. He can't maintain an affiliation with the Alliance. Some of the old Moffs are sure to bring criminal charges against him for murder and treason."

"Treason is out," Luke considered. "There's a new government. Murder is a possibility," he conceded.

"Yes." Leia climbed the wide shallow staircase leading out of the courtyard and added, "It is. Also," she began, but it was several steps before she spoke again, "I think, for what may be the first time in his life, Han found something he wants to belong to. And we can't let him. We have to turn him away."

Luke walked along in support, but he made no answer. He thought back to the last five days, when all he thought about was how Han and Chewie and Leia were doing on their own, and longing to be back with them. He saw Han using Luke's lightsaber, Han wearing handcuffs and a big smile as they all were reunited. It wasn't only that Han had found something; Han had joined.

"And so that's how I think I'm ruining his life. I can only think, Luke, of how that must feel. It's like we're rejecting him."

"When you say 'we'," Luke said thoughtfully. "Just who are you talking about?"

Leia opened her mouth and closed it again. _Damn you, Luke._

"It's just the Alliance," Luke rationalized. "Not some exclusive club. He's not a kid. He's never wanted to enlist before; well, he entertained it when Chewie was general, but when he found out I was coming here he dropped that idea fast. And Leia, after all we've been through, I think he'll know you're not rejecting him. His skin is thick enough to not take it personally. There's one thing, though" he said.

"What?" Leia felt her hackles rise, ready to defend herself. She was exposed and vulnerable. Mon Mothma was on one side and the Imperials were on the other. She and Han were in the middle, and only she was armed. She could point it at Han or she could point it at herself. Either way, everyone lost.

"When you say can't maintain an affiliation with the Alliance, you don't mean us, do you? I want to be clear. Just who would be doing the rejecting? Not me. There's no way anyone is going to tell me I can't talk to him or hang out with him. I know he's not going to throw you under the speeder. He wouldn't, no matter what. Even if they call for his execution for murder -"

"That's a little far fetched," Leia said tartly.

"-maybe so." Luke inclined his head in acknowledgment. "But protect him, okay? I know you're in a tight spot too, them being able to link you with him, but promise me you'll consider his friendship more than your position."

"That's very far fetched," Leia said again bitterly. "You think I haven't been placed in a difficult political situation before? What about name the Rebel location or we'll blow a planet up?"

"Leia, I didn't me-"

"I know how to make sacrifices, Luke. And I usually choose me." She couldn't help her voice breaking.

"Leia," Luke repeated plaintively.

"No, it's alright," she managed to get control of herself, but still felt anger. "I didn't bring this up because I'm wrestling with how to handle this, Luke. I brought it up because, because...I feel bad. I was talking about Han, not me. "

"I know," Luke surrendered. "I'm sorry."

He replayed their conversation in his head. "Or maybe I'm not. You brought it up because you feel bad. You just said that. Han can handle this; I'm sure he can."

"Aargh, Luke Skywalker," Leia growled exasperatedly. "Use your Force and figure out what I'm talking about!"

"I will," he answered mildly, as if she had not challenged him. But he had one for her. "You use it too and figure out what you're talking about."

They finished walking through the temple in grumpy silence. The building remained the same; echoing and dusty.

 


	49. Chapter 49

It seemed they had abandoned him.

Han had no idea how long he'd been in this room. The tension of the past four days, which he had spent in guarded isolation from Palpatine's chambers, waiting and watching as the Empire gave way to the New Republic, had dissipated into a relieved freedom when he sauntered into Galactic Alliance custody, but now it was back, gnawing at his insides.

Had he been wrong to feel any sense of victory in the hour they let him spend with Luke, Leia and Chewie?

Rieekan had known what they had accomplished; accomplished not just for him and themselves but for the Alliance and the Galaxy, and he had a wise sense of what it had must cost. He had recognized how much they had needed each other, and for one hour he let time just stop. For one hour there was no takeover, no ridiculous speculation, no danger, no fighting.

It had been a fantastic hour.

They couldn't stop touching each other – hugging, patting, swatting, ruffling, looking into each other's eyes.

They kept it light. Teased Luke's Lieutenant Owen, played with Leia's hair, tickled the new patches of fur growing in on Chewie and invented a silly back story for Han for the media could run wild with. Luke had started it: _I know! Tell 'em the Liberator is a Jawa with a genetic mutation and he ran off and toured the galaxy when he got too big to fit in the sandcrawler he called home._ They'd laughed, invented all sorts of adventures for him, like the scar on his chin was from an infected paper cut.

Then Rieekan had come back in, and told them with a sadness that it was time to move on. Move on. It wasn't over. They were on a journey, and the finish line was just a mirage, like the delusional visions the desert fed to you when you were out in it too long. Instead of the finish line they had made a stopover. True, it was an oasis, but it was time to leave it. And who knew how long it might be before they reached the next oasis.

They had taken his watch and belt when he surrendered himself, which Han found curious. Were they worried he was going to assault his guard and try to escape? Harm himself?

A droid came in and took his statement. It was not an interrogation. Han had asked who was going to read his statement, but the droid made no answer. He narrated the story he'd come up with while soaking in Palpatine's bath, and the awareness of what he was committing to filled with him with a strange melancholy.

There was no turning back now.

The droid left and Han gave it about twenty minutes after no one else came in. Strode over the door and found it locked. _Seriously?_ he thought. _Come on_. He knocked, banged, looked for a way out. Took to pacing. Took to replaying the battle, watching lightning go through Darth Vader's helmet, Luke grow his golden lightning.

If they were watching, he stopped giving them anything after an hour. Sat back down, hands gathered over his belly while his legs stretched out before him, lips pursed, contemplating his boots. He jogged around the table a few laps and grew terribly bored. He scrawled with his finger tip on the table top, tracing out his biography, the only time he'd told it truthfully, and grinned to himself that no one would read it.

It was politics, he realized. He was a political issue. The Liberator, the Assassin. He sighed heavily. They were likely to name him. It was not like he was famous, but there were holos of him in the Bounty Hunters Guild office, on warrants the Empire had on him. If they didn't get his name from there, someone would be clever enough to arrive at him through the Wookiee that was with Vader, or the ship that brought him here. He wondered if it would make a difference in his case from how they approached it. Certainly from the Criminals Wanted list he would be labeled – _libeled, good pun Solo_ – the Mercenary Assassin. But, if one went the other way, the hero's way, then the Life Debt, the court martial, put together with the Medal of Bravery, and he looked like the Liberator.

He used the time to prepare. Reviewed, in his head since there were no holovisions in the room and the silence was driving him crazy, the security footage Leia let release with his coup statement. Neither she nor Luke made an appearance. He needed to ensure he kept it that way. They'd ask him about them, though, he figured. Medal of Bravery and all that. Leia definitely. _Senator Organa._

He deliberated how much of the truth to use. They would know he came off the Death Star with her, that she draped the Medal around his neck, that she was a member of the High Council in the Rebellion he did some work for. But what else? That she and Luke went after him at Jabba's? Would they have that? That she went AWOL as Darth Vader? That he was in love with her? He snorted. That'd get the media talking, way off topic.

His melancholy gave way to dejection. He stretched his neck, swiping a hand over his hair. She was in a tough position, no doubt; he could appreciate that.

The Alliance had fought its war with the goal of establishing the New Republic. It had fought the Empire tirelessly, chipping away at its resources and policies, all the while protecting the lives of those who would become part of the New Republic. The war, up until the events of five days ago, had been fought cleanly and fairly. Could anyone in the Alliance, and as a consequence the New Republic, be trusted if it was known they had sponsored a terrorist to kill the enemy's leader?

Yes, they would have to hang him out to dry. He didn't really begrudge them that; he'd do the same.

 _Oh, well. It was nice while it lasted._ He was back to the beginning. Himself, a Wookiee partner with a Life Debt, and a ship. Once, that had been enough. _Stop moping,_ he scolded himself. _You'll be lucky to walk out of here._

That brought him back to the wait. They were trying to unnerve him. He wondered who it was. Mothma? No, she was too cagey. But someone was listening to the former Imperials. Han balled up his jacket to use as a pillow, and stretched his body out along the surface of the table. His ankles hung over it. _Bastards,_ was his last waking thought.

Jabba was holding court in his throne room. Han felt the sand under his feet as he joined the endless parade of audience members promenading to a seat around a complicated arrangement of tables. Han spied Leia across the room and in another direction he saw Maranya sitting sullenly next to Doc Brack, who seemed alert and attentive. He waved Han over, but Han chose an aisle that took him towards Leia, pretending to Doc Brack he was trapped in the flow by the crowd. Jabba was speaking, listing crimes against the Hutts.

"What's he saying?" he asked Leia when he got close. He saw his aisle placed him in front of her row of tables, and that he would need to walk all the way around again to get behind the table.

Leia looked up from her flimsi. "He says the rancor wasn't fed and it died."

Han followed her gaze to a table near Jabba's throne. At it sat what looked more to Han like a Wookiee cub. It was small and furry, adorable and harmless looking.

"I didn't know they were so cute," he commented as he passed Leia's table. Although Jabba had announced that it had died, it seemed very alive.

"He says that was your fault," Leia explained, just as Han heard Jabba say something again about crimes against Hutts.

He was far away from her now, moving slowly, weaving in and out of tables with a mass of other bodies. "My fault?" he asked. "What did I do?"

The crowd whisked him away again, and he could barely hear her. His path brought him by Doc Brack and Maranya again, and Han would not catch their eye, desiring in no way to join their table.

"You didn't feed it," he heard Leia tell him dimly.

Han met Maranya's knowing eyes. "I couldn't feed it," he defended himself. He felt terribly for the rancor. It looked so sweet, so cuddly. How could he have let it die? Doc Brack had a hold of his arm, pulling him one way, while Luke tugged on his other. "When did you get here?" Han asked Luke in surprise. "Let go; I'm fine. I can't go that way." He tried to wrench his arm free and found once again he'd have to navigate the room as the path was now two levels behind Leia. "Damn it," he swore in frustration.

Jabba repeated his litany of crimes against the Hutts; what they were exactly was still unclear to Han. He had been looking at the charming figure of the rancor, and watched in horror as it suddenly became an adult rancor, its appearance like what Han knew of the creatures. It was huge, with skin tough as armor, a mouth that oozed drool and showed long, sharp teeth. It started to reach for him with its razor claws. Han abandoned the careful aisles and started leaping over the tables as the rancor gave chase. The beings he pushed and knocked over stood only to be toppled by the rancor again, but when they stood their anger was directed at Han. He kept clambering up and over, looking for the way out, his heart beating fast.

"Off the tables, Solo," Doc Brack said. "You can't treat the furniture like that."

"Off the tables, please." Han opened his eyes.

"Huh?" "The table is not a sleeping surface, sir," a droid informed him.

Straightening to a seated position and wiping saliva from the corner of his mouth, Han eyed the droid, still breathing hard. The droid was right in front of him, but he still saw the throne room and the chaos of the rancor chasing him. "I wasn't sleeping," he said.

The droid ignored his denial. "They are ready for you, sir."

Han slid the crumpled jacket towards him, taking a moment to compose himself, and got down from the table. "Who's ready for me?"

"The Senate convenes, sir." "Why was I left alone? How long's it been? What time is it?"

"I have no idea, sir. If you'll follow me, please."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

General Rieekan paced outside the senate chambers. He was set to testify on behalf of the Rebel Alliance regarding any involvement in the coup.

He felt nervous. There were two members of the Senate in there, Mon Mothma and Princess Leia, whose credibility might be greatly affected if he was unable to convince the Senators the Alliance had not manipulated circumstances and undertaken the removal of Emperor Palpatine.

Behind him, there was a murmur of voices and he turned to look. A droid was pointing in his direction, steering Han Solo to join him.

"Solo," Rieekan greeted him. He noted the man's rumpled dress shirt, full of sooty dirt and holes. Solo wore a day's worth of beard on his face and a very sour expression. This was a different man than the one who had asked for him to bring him into custody half a day ago, undaunted, clean and careless. This was the mien of a man whom everyone else had thrown down a hole and tried to cover up. "You look like you've passed a rough few hours," he remarked.

Solo threw him a dirty look. "At least the room had a toilet. You guys lose the paperwork on me or something? Door was locked, no food or water. What time is it?"

Rieekan was shocked. "You haven't been tended to? It's," he looked at his chrono, "eight. You surrendered yourself almost eight hours ago. You're serious? They left you alone? They were supposed -" he broke off, mumbling to himself and looking troubled.

"What am I looking at?" Han asked, shrugging on his jacket which looked more wrinkled than his shirt.

A shadow crossed Rieekan's face. "A power play, no doubt. We're going before the War Crimes Committee. It seems a group of Moffs and Admirals are waging their own style of political war, and they're after you. And through you, Mothma."

Han nodded, digesting the information. He'd developed a cynicism about his fellow humans early on, since Madame took all the donated money intended for the orphans, and nothing he'd seen as a smuggler had done much to change that opinion. He'd never had much belief in governments. By his reckoning, a politician was not far removed from a smuggler. _Don't tell Leia I said that._ Both navigated a system to get ahead. Smugglers drew a straight line outside the law while politicians bent them all to hell. He used to lump them all politicians together, but Leia had managed to alter his opinion somewhat. Now he was willing to accept there were beings who were truly altruistic. He wondered how many of this gathering were like her. _This is just another game,_ he thought to himself. _I'm the ball, and they're going to toss me back and forth until someone scores._

The droid came to escort them inside the chambers. "This way, gentle beings," it said.

Han and Rieekan were led into a huge space. There was a circular area at the floor level that had tables arranged at opposite ends, and then the room rose upward, row after row of work stations and seats, a large group of numerous life forms scattered around. Some clustered closely together, while others sat apart. Han, experienced with star charts and traversing the galaxy, recognized the room represented the galaxy and the seats were mapped out according to the location of each planet that was represented by membership in the Senate.

Above the senatorial seating was the spectators gallery, where members of the public could attend hearings and see their government at work. Han recognized Chewie's hulking form easily, and saw that someone was sitting comfortably next to him. Usually beings gave the fierce-looking Wookiee a wide berth. Han's lip twitched a quick smile. _Luke._

"Come to order." Interim Chancellor Mon Mothma hammered on her work station in the Senate chamber. "The fifth day of the first year of the New Republic. Senators record your presence." She waited a moment while the eighty-six beings activated their names on the roll.

Next to Chewie in the spectator's gallery, Luke watched the names and planetary designations light up. There were a good number of beings, humans mostly, sharing the space with him. Luke surmised some might be former Imperials, Moffs even. A large viewing screen was hung from the ceiling in the corner, allowing the spectators to see up close. He scanned the Senators, marveling at all the different life forms, and found Leia the third row back.

Leia squirmed from her own vantage point. If she craned her head she could make out the spectator's gallery and Chewie's seat. She leaned forward slightly, turning her head to the side, and found Han already looking at her. She was careful to remain restrained, but thought it was within the bounds of proper to offer him a nod.

"Very well." Mothma stated. "Administer the Oath," she directed the droid.

The droid returned its attention to Rieekan and Han and recited the Oath of Honesty. With their left hands raised, each man repeated what the droid said, finishing with, "or the gods see into my soul."

"Be seated," Mon Mothma directed. She addressed them. "You are brought before the War Crimes Committee. We feel that it is our duty, seeing as many were shocked by not only the violent death of the leader of the Empire, but of the Empire itself, to ensure that no conspiring of any sort was undertaken by any being now part of this New Republic. We need to put to rest any doubts, leave the past, and proceed into the future. After your testimony the Committee shall determine if any crimes of war will be levied against you. Do you understand?"

"Spoken to the point," Han muttered under his breath to Rieekan. A pitcher of water and two glasses was placed before them. Han eagerly reached and poured himself a glass, drinking it thirstily.

"Here we go," Luke muttered to Chewie. "Think he'll bury himself?"

"No," Chewie was positive. "He understands how to lie. Simple is best and use the truth when it can't hurt you."

"Please state your names and occupations, for the record," Mothma instructed.

Han and Rieekan looked at each other, and Han spoke first. "Han Solo. Freighter captain," he said modestly.

Rieekan leaned forward. He cleared his throat. "Carlist Rieekan. I was in command of enforcement during the Rebel Alliance."

"A moment," another Senator rose. "Chancellor Mothma, I would like to point out the insurgent said in a statement that his first choice was for the Galactic Alliance to assume control. It is widely known of the role you played in the Alliance and Rebellion. I suggest you step down as Inquisitor of these witnesses and let a more impartial committee member lead the proceedings. "

"Ouch," Leia said under her breath. To her credit, Mothma didn't miss a beat. "Granted," she said flatly, and extended her palm to a neighboring Senator to take control of the questioning.

The new Inquisitor, a blue-skinned Duro, took a moment to gather his thoughts. "The War Crimes Committee will go over statements from -"

"Wait," Rieekan broke in. "Forgive me," he said, noting the displeased expression on the Duro's face and holding up an appeasing palm. "Before your questioning, I would like the committee to be aware that Captain Solo has been in custody of the New Republic for the last eight hours. I delivered him myself. He has told me he was locked in a room and had nothing to eat or drink after his statement was taken by a droid."

Mon Mothma looked sharply at Han. "Have you been mistreated, Captain Solo?"

"Well, no. More like ignored," Han answered. _Like you had no idea._

"Is that true?" Luke whispered, leaning over to Chewie.

"Yes," Chewie answered. "They whisked him away and wouldn't let me see him. They said for his own safety."

Luke nodded and turned back to the proceedings.

"Noted," Mothma said, running over the Duro's control and marking a notation in her flimsi. "I apologize, on behalf of the Senate, for any overlooking of your needs. After you testify here, you will be brought food and treated for your injuries. Is that in accordance with your wishes?"

A look crossed over Han's face, and Luke recognized his friend found something entertaining. _Don't treat this like a joke, Han_ he silently implored. Han made his characteristic face of amused befuddlement, one side of his mouth going up, narrowing one eye, and shook his head once. "My wishes?" he asked. "I'm a lot more complicated than that."

Chewie groaned and Luke smiled sympathetically.

"You may continue with your statement, General."

"Thank you, Chancellor. Gentle beings of the Galaxy," Rieekan began.

Leia paid rapt attention, wondering who had helped Carlist write his speech. Probably C-3PO. Carlist read from a flimsi, enunciating his words in Basic clearly, while others who did not speak Basic followed along with their own translators at their respective work stations. She wondered if his intent had been to bore them. Rieekan began with the arrival of the _Millennium Falcon_ on Yavin and Captain Solo's reward payment and continued with every financial invoice the Alliance had on file for Solo. It went on for about an hour, and Leia was amazed at the number of runs Han had made for them. It had been three years, a long time, but she would have underestimated the amount. Rieekan stressed that Han had always been paid and had never held an official status within the Alliance organization. He concluded with an account of Solo's sudden disappearance. "Although he was not an enlisted member of our team, we were forced to conclude he was missing in action. We made no attempt to locate him or determine his whereabouts."

C-3PO definitely had a hand in this, Leia realized. Neither she nor Luke had filled Rieekan in completely on why they were delayed for months after the medical supplies mission. She vaguely recalled informing Rieekan that Han had put them on a detour to Tatooine and they were following it up.

Han leaned back, his forearm slung over the back of his chair. His hand dangled relaxedly, and while the committee grilled Rieekan on his statement and facts, his eyes took in the eight members of the committee one at a time. When he made it down the row, he started again at the beginning, his face stony and dangerous.

 _Tough-guy image,_ Leia thought.

Then the committee turned their attention to Han. "Captain Solo, you are perceived as being a leading member of the coup, or at least, the only to survive. You are seen in footage recorded by security cameras as killing the Emperor. Are you aware that some call you the Liberator while others call you a murderer? Our purpose here today is to determine which you are. I'm sure you have a preference. Which would you like to be known as?"

"Uh, my friends call me Han." There were titters from the audience. To Luke, it looked like Han was still trying to digest all the committee being told him. "And I didn't kill him," he protested. "He was making his own lightning. I just threw it back at him."

Leia clasped her hands together and noted with approval that Han chose his words carefully, rearranging the order of truthful statements so that he gave the panel a different semblance of events.

"Are you aware," the acting chair said sternly, "that charges of war crimes may be brought against you?"

"What about the war crimes Palpatine committed?" Han demanded, now genuinely angry. "What about Alderaan?"

Next to Luke some of the humans stood up, raising their fists and protesting angrily. The large screen showed an image of Leia, who made no visible reaction at the mention of her lost planet.

"I remind you of your oath, and I remind you of the evidence before us. Evidence, might I add, which you have provided for us." The Inquisitor stared at Han. "You have no response?"

Han waved his hand, wiping the skepticism away. "Didn't think that was a question." He chewed on his cheek. "No, I have no response."

"The footage is clearly doctored, Captain Solo. What have you omitted?"

"Just – footage," Han groped for an explanation. "It went on a while. Lots of lightning."

"Despite General Rieekan's somewhat glowing and colored endorsement of your record with the Rebel Alliance, there is no disputing the fact that you have a long history of criminal activity." The Inquisitor waited a moment. "Again, I see you make no response."

Han shrugged. "You said you have your evidence," he said. Though his tone was mild, Luke sensed something underneath Han's demeanor, almost an age-old wounding, still causing an underlying pain while the scar prevented it being reopened.

"To some, your work with the Rebel Alliance was criminal."

"To the Empire, you mean," Han countered.

"This is not a platform for your political beliefs," the Duro snapped. He switched tacks. "Why did Lord Vader need you in his takeover attempt, Captain Solo?"

Han made no answer. _It's a good question_ , he thought to himself.

"He was Lord Vader, second in command to Emperor Palpatine himself. He had open access to the Emperor. He could have assassinated him on his own, at any time. Why did he need you, the Jedi Master Yoda, and the Wookiee?"

"Thought they'd forgotten about you," Luke whispered to Chewie.

"He needed Yoda," Han asserted. "Me and Chewie were just filler."

"Did Lord Vader seek to take control for himself once he killed the Emperor? Was that his plan? To become the new leader of the Empire?"

Han straightened in his seat, inhaling as if deep in thought. "He didn't confide in me," he told the Inquisitor. "But I believe that was his intent."

"Had he, at any time, approached the Rebel Alliance?" "Not to my knowledge." "Was Master Yoda at any time in contact with the Rebel Alliance?"

"Not to my knowledge," Han repeated. "He was in hiding. Palpatine assigned Vader to track down any Jedi that survived the Purge; that's how he found him."

"And just how did Lord Vader find you, Captain?"

"I was apprehended by the Empire while on a run for the Alliance," Han rattled off. "Charged with smuggling and then espionage. Because of that, Vader interrogated me, and….the rest is history." He smirked a little. _It's a lie, but it's history._

"Enlighten me, Captain, how Vader gleaned you could be useful to him from examination of your records. I am looking at the same records. Your Imperial Navy and subsequent court martial records, the list -very long, mind you- of all the warrants put out on you by the Empire and by individual businessmen to bounty hunters- "

"Look," Han said, leaning his elbows on the table. "He could put two and two together; why can't you? It was an easy choice for Vader." Han wiggled his finger at the stack of flimsis on the table. "He saw what you saw. He was lucky to find me."

Luke grunted at Han's puffed up assertion of himself.

"Unless," the Inquisitor proposed, "you survived the Purge yourself, and were a Jedi in hiding?"

"What?" This actually took Han by surprise. He smiled a little, the whole idea seeming preposterous.

Luke couldn't help but smile a little also. He was curious to learn how the Committee viewed ideas of the Force and the Jedi. Palpatine's insinuations and actions had caused a lot of damage, both physically and figuratively.

"Do you find the idea that other Jedi survived the Purge unlikely, Captain Solo? Jedi were all over the Galaxy at the end of the Clone Wars."

"No, that's possible," Han allowed carefully.

"In fact, weren't you at one time acquainted with another Jedi Master? Were you not on the Death Star the same time Obi Wan Kenobi was killed by Darth Vader?"

"Uh, well -" Han faltered. _From their view that is a bit of a stretch, ain't it?_

"Three Jedi in three years, Captain Solo." The Duro held up his hand, lifting a finger with each name he enunciated. "Vader, Kenobi, Yoda. If the latter two were in hiding, I would find it difficult for any being to discover them, yet somehow you managed it. You have also shown us you know how to handle a lightsaber."

"I only met Yoda through Vader," Han asserted, "and only Vader when I got arrested. Kenobi chartered my ship. I didn't know he was a Jedi until later. "

"You know, Captain Solo. It's all a bit much for me to swallow. Whenever you are in the company of Jedi, the Rebel Alliance has not been far behind. Was Kenobi part of the Alliance?"

"No. I don't know why we're talking about this," Han growled.

"Perhaps I do," the Duro said with a sinister smile. "You said in your statement you were in Imperial custody. Was anyone arrested with you?"

"No."

"Not your Wookie?" Han slapped the table with his palm. "He not my Wookiee," he snapped. Leia sighed knowingly at his display of impatient anger. "You sound awful Imperial," Han continued acerbically. "Thought this was the New Republic."

The Duro Inquisitor ignored his outburst. "Not Commander Skywalker or Senator Leia?"

Han flinched upright, steeling himself. _Here we go._ "Neither. They were with me," he offered, knowing it was coming, "but only I was apprehended. As far as I know they returned to the Alliance."

"And you? Once Vader had recruited you? He let you go?" The Duro saw Han nod and pressed on. "Did you return to the Rebel Alliance?"

"No."

"Why didn't you bring what you knew Vader planned to Alliance leadership?"

Another good question, Han thought. He regretted not having anyone with him when he invented this explanation. An outside perspective offered viewpoints he might have overlooked. As it was, the Duro offered a likely scenario. In fact, if it had been true, it's something Han would likely have done. "I couldn't bring that to the Alliance," was all he said.

"Why not, Captain? Don't you agree it would have solved several problems for you?" The Inquisitor's voice was like a whip, his eyes hungry. "They would protect you from Vader while you offered them victory."

"The Alliance doesn't work that way. They're always quoting the Mandate of Amethia Prime. They don't condone state-sponsored assassination."

Han stopped, remembering many late-night discussions with Leia and Luke. Sometimes she brought ethics up to teach Luke, sometimes Han did just to get a rise out of her. It had been sport for him, the ethical validity never really a concern for him. But apparently he'd become well informed. It helped his case. He saw Mon Mothma nod in acknowledgment.

"Alright, let's presume Vader released you and you didn't return to the Alliance," the Inquisitor proposed.

"Don't presume anything," Han snapped. "It's what happened."

"You went where? Did what? Resumed smuggling?"

Han fidgeted a bit, trying to connect the dots. _Tatooine._ "That's right. Looked up a former employer, Jabba the Hutt."

"Yes, Captain. Jabba the Hutt. I will tell the Senate, for those who may not be aware, that Jabba the Hutt was killed less than one month ago. Tell us, Captain Solo, did you have anything to do with the Hutt's death?"

Han nodded, still proud of it. "Yes. Everything. I killed him."

"And then you notified the Rebel Alliance of your achievement? What exactly was your wording, I wonder. Did you invite the Galactic Alliance to take control?" The Duro recited the exact wording from the coup statement.

 _GA on the way,_ Rieekan chanted silently, slumped a little in his seat while Han remained stonily silent.

"Captain, what should I say here?" the Duro wondered sarcastically. "That you are a one man vigilante, building governments single-handedly? You seem to be setting a pattern. What's next for you, the New Republic?"

"Just a moment," Rieekan spoke up. "If you'll allow me to explain the development of how the Alliance came to -"

"I only have one question for you, General," the Duro snapped. "How did the Alliance learn of the Hutt's fall?"

Rieekan cleared his throat. _Lie,_ Han urged silently. He wiggled in his seat a little, hoping that sent the message, but Rieekan was an honest man who had taken an oath. "I received a communication."

"Yes, I'm sure you did. Please name the originator of this communication."

"It was from Princess Leia."

"Yes," the Inquisitor said gleefully. "That is what I read in my files. So, let me get this straight. You, Solo, are arrested and detained and your compatriots flee to safety without you. You return on your own to Tatooine and resume smuggling for the Hutt. According to my calculations, it can only have been several months later when the Hutt was killed. And _at that same time_ , Senator Organa and Commander Skywalker of the Alliance are also on Tatooine."

The room was quiet as each being absorbed the twists and turns of the proceedings.

The Duro enjoyed feeding the room such a shock. He let the silence ring, let the names Organa and Skywalker reverberate around the room.

Luke looked to the viewer and saw Leia looking impassive. The humans he shared the gallery with were tense with anticipation.

"Perhaps, Captain Solo, you are innocent, as you say, of notifying the Alliance," the Duro remarked idly. "Perhaps you are only guilty of associating with Organa and Skywalker."

Han sighed heavily. _Shit._

"Perhaps it is only Organa and Skywalker who are guilty of violating the Mandate of Amethia Prime."

Luke's stomach dropped. He looked around the gallery, hoping none of the others recognized him. Eyes wide, he looked at Chewie. He couldn't help but feel betrayed, and he had no idea by whom, or why. It wasn't Han, at least not knowingly, but he didn't understand how this Duro had pieced scraps of evidence to make his own case. _I hate politics. I'm getting thrown under the speeder!_ The irony of his past conversation with Leia hit him hard.

"Can I ask you a question?" Han said. "Is that allowed?"

Mothma, even though she was not heading this particular investigation was still Committee Chair, and she nodded at Han.

"Do you know whose lightsaber I used when fighting off Palpatine's Force lightning?"

The Duro correctly assumed Han would answer his own question, and since he didn't himself know the answer, remained quiet.

"It was Luke's. I got it from him." Han left it open to interpretation, something the Senate was fond of doing, whether or not Luke had given it to him or he had stolen it. "You know Kenobi hired me, and you know he was killed on the Death Star. When I arrived on Yavin, immediately after leaving the Death Star, I had Skywalker and Senator Organa with me."

Han gave everyone a moment to search their files if needed. "Senator Organa was a prisoner of war. We smuggled her out. Go ahead and look it up – you won't find any record of a prisoner named Luke Skywalker. That's because he was a passenger on my ship. He was Kenobi's learner."

Luke blinked at Han's abruptness and let out a loud breath. Maybe that wasn't so bad. Simple is best. And use the truth if it won't hurt you.

"The term for a student of the Force with a master was Padawan," the Inquisitor schooled Han. The Duro was shaking his head. "How can this Skywalker continue to study the Force? Are there more Masters besides Kenobi and this Yoda?"

Han shrugged. "Dunno. From what I understand, a being is born able to use the Force. So while Palpatine got rid of the Order, he couldn't get rid of the Force. There are others like Luke; they just don't know it."

"Not bad," Chewie murmured to Luke. "He's reintroduced the idea of Force-sensitivity for you."

Luke nodded, dazed. Simple is best.

"It's true Senator Organa and Skywalker were on Tatooine the same time I was, only I was there a lot longer. _A lot,_ Han thought, thinking of his dream and the way he had to climb over the tables in the throne room, fleeing from the rancor.

"They were looking for me," he continued. "The Alliance, seeing as I wasn't an official member, wouldn't send out a search and rescue for me, and they wanted to know what happened to me when I….when I got arrested."

"Was Skywalker present, here on Coruscant, when the Emperor was killed?" Mon Mothma leaned forward, demanding to know.

Han knew why she was asking, and it helped him out a bit. _You know damn well he was._ "No, Chancellor," he lied, his oath not disturbing him at all. "He wasn't. I haven't seen Luke for months. And Senator Organa returned to the base at Sullust."

"With you," the Duro stated.

Han spread his hands modestly. "I was just giving her a ride." He thought the danger enough passed that he could toss her a roguish wink. "We're friends. So let's talk about something else."

The Inquisitor resumed control of the investigation by continuing to grill Han. Leia shook her head in frustration. She'd been expecting this. She knew there was a number of former high-ranking Imperials who demanded justice by the Senators for their Emperor, but going about it as a personal attack on Han seemed like a cheap shot. She let it go on a while; everyone did, though it was clearly an attack. They made aspersions on Han's character. They implied he was amoral, greedy, worthless. The Inquisitor snapped at Han, rarely letting him finish a sentence.

Leia watched his face carefully. His jaw was twitching and his eyes looked very dark, a sign of brooding anger. _He was a boy once,_ she thought. _Once, he was a boy and his own people called him worthless. This boy is grown now. He's a man, and he's proven himself as loyal and worthy as anyone could ever want. Yet he is still called worthless._ She decided she had let it go on for too long. She stood.

"Gentle beings of the Galactic Senate," she projected. "If I may address the committee?"

The eight consulted with each other briefly and signaled assent to her.

Leia got out of her seat and stepped down to the lower floor level. She folded her hands against her midsection and sent her gaze around.

Han admired her. Her glance was composed and imperious, and while she took them all in she was reminding them somehow of the seriousness of their office and what they were attempting to accomplish.

"It is unfortunate there is a need for the War Crimes Committee," she began calmly, "and yet I do not disparage it. We are at a vulnerable stage in the formation of this new government. The former regime did not merely fall; its leader was killed in hand to hand combat. We must decide that his life was justifiably taken. We must hear evidence that those involved in the coup neither undertook it on behalf of those responsible for the new government, nor acted out of their own desire for power.

"What is clear to me, and I'm sure I do not need to summarize it for you," Leia said with a wry smile, aware she was about to do just that, "is that he did not act on his own. Once Vader was killed he called for the Galactic Alliance to assume control. Fellow Senators, that is a call for help.

"But Vader is dead. It no longer matters how he intended the aftermath to play out. Speculation cannot play a part in the War Crimes Committee; only the truth."

Luke was so impressed by Leia's speech that he quieted the running commentary he enjoyed with Chewie during the committee questioning. He had seen her address the troops before; then it was more to instruct and inspire. She spoke briefly and to the point. Now she wove a complex tapestry of words that swooped in waves, pulling her audience's perspective in and out, grand and small. He leaned his elbows on his thighs, his posture reflecting how intent he was as she continued her speech.

"The Emperor did not consider the rebellion a true war. He called it terrorism. But it was a true war, a civil war. No one rises up against their government lightly. It is a heart-breaking, gut-wrenching decision.

"Wars are fought with armies," Leia said. "Or they were. The Empire had developed the technology to fight this war by eliminating an entire population with a push of a button."

"The Mandate of Amethia Prime states, in one part, that a being not in direct involvement of fighting a war can be treated in a manner inhumane, barbarous, or tortuous." Leia dropped her voice, so that every being had to crane forward to hear her properly. She was emotional, unusual for her when speaking publicly, and she thought her ideas were disorganized and jumpy. She kept her hands tucked together, aware that others might see them shaking.

"I don't want to believe that any of you allow yourselves to think the Emperor was justified in ordering the complete and final destruction of an entire planet. I think, just as the shock waves of the explosion still disperse through space, you are in shock. Once you travel to the debris field and feel how the meteorites pummel your ship, will you begin to understand.

"But I cannot bring you there today," she said sadly. She wondered if she would ever go herself. Han and Luke had told her about emerging from hyperspace into the debris field and how they had stared dumbly, unable to comprehend the enormity of the destruction.

"Palpatine ordered the Death Star built and he ordered its use. If the Alliance had not destroyed it, I don't think I would be the only Senator in this room without a planet to represent. I turn to you, Chancellor Mothma of Chandrila, and to you, Senator Iblis of Corellia. You both were early opponents of the Empire, as was my father, Bail Organa of Alderaan. Surely, your homeworlds would have been targeted. Surely, if the Empire continued, the lights of these Senate seats would be forever extinguished as symbols of what happened in the Galaxy.

Leia bowed her head. "Captain Solo has told you how he met me," she said, "that I was a prisoner of war. I had the plans for the Death Star. The men on board the Death Star were acting on orders from Palpatine. They sought to retrieve the plans and they sought to destroy the Rebellion. Tell me, my fellow Senators," Leia said haltingly, beginning to lose her composure. "Tell me that needle interrogation, sexual assault, torture, witnessing the murder of your entire people," now her voice broke into a harsh rasp, "tell me that was neither inhumane, barbarous, nor tortuous.

Luke's body twitched, as if he made to rise. Chewie made a whining noise, and Rieekan's hand shot out to keep Han in his seat, who ignored him. He took his place by Leia on the floor and Luke decided to join them. He went down the gallery steps, hopping over the railing instead of exiting and going around. It was the quickest way and he landed lightly on his feet.

Leia grabbed the hands of both men. "Captain Solo called it a smuggling operation," she smiled at him, "but I describe it as a rescue.

"He made a valid point earlier. While we investigate to determine if any crimes were committed by members of the new government, we have ignored the opportunity to assess the damage the former regime caused our galaxy and the reasons for its displacement. I call for an amendment to this investigation by the War Crimes Committee. I add Sheev Palpatine's name to the list of accused of war crimes against the galaxy."

The chamber erupted in sound. Leia heard both cheers and jeers and when she looked at Mon Mothma she saw the woman's face was streaked with tears.

 _Well done, sis,_ Luke told her through the Force. She did not let go of Han's hand and answered him with a most forlorn look.

Han brought his hand to her head, pulling her closer. "You are the bravest person I know," Han told her, his lips in her hair.

"And you're the toughest," she looked up at him with a weepy smile. "I couldn't let them tear you apart anymore."

"So you tore yourself apart," he concluded.

"I threw myself under the speeder," she said, only half joking.

"Leia! Han!" Luke's senses were suddenly on alert. He brought his lightsaber out and focused on the spectator gallery, where the hostile humans had stopped cursing. One had made his way to the railing and held a blaster in the palm of his hand.

It all seemed to happen at once. Luke heard the hum of his blade, saw the bright blue of it gleam, felt the heat of the blaster bolt as it headed their way and caught the scent of Leia's perfume as he pushed her away. He tasted the effort of saving her as the salt of his perspiration slipped into his mouth. His mind raced. The bolt was coming, and his blade was ready. Where to answer it? He could return it to its source, have the bolt enter the body of the person so willing to murder.

But Leia's words floated in his mind, ideas she had presented to him just now and earlier. Of right and wrong, of justice and punishment, of redemption and love. _Always so good with words._

He aimed his lightsaber up, and the bolt was deflected harmlessly into the ceiling. Gentle puffs of dust drifted down, and some of the Senators craned their heads, watching.

"Chewie, hold him." Luke didn't raise his voice, but sent a request through the Force, knowing the Wookiee would not let him down.

Chewie was roaring in the spectator gallery. He had cornered all those human males Luke had taken for former Imperials and held them terrifyingly in place just by shouting at them.

"You just made my case for me!" Han shouted, attempting to vault the railing and assault the gunman. Rieekan, Senator Iblis and several droids were grasping at his jacket, pulling him back down to ground level. "Let's not make a new one," Rieekan grunted. "Calm down, son."

 


	50. Chapter 50

"You going to eat that?" Chewie asked Han.

Amused, Han slid his plate over to Chewie. "Nah, go ahead."

It was a familiar pattern between the two. Han found that Chewie always had a great appetite, since a Wookiee's body required more calories, and that what was regarded as a typical serving size in dining establishments was below standard for a Wookiee, so Han often compensated by letting Chewie finish his own food. Han also had learned that a Wookiee ate just about anything. On Kashyyk, they were predominantly carnivores, but in their space travels together, Chewie ate anything and everything placed before him.

"Ah, real food," Leia enthused, patting her belly. "You'll need to fill the stores on the _Falcon_ , Han. Chewie and I were resorting to ration bars the last two days we stayed on board."

Han nodded. "All I had was a bowl of fruit."

Luke looked guiltily at them. "I ate pretty well. That hospitality droid checked on me every four hours."

Han sat in his Kwilaan dress shirt at a table next to Leia. He had carelessly deposited the officer's jacket on a chair against the wall and made a mental note to himself to forget to retrieve it when they left.

Chewie and Luke were across from them. They had been sequestered together while the War Crimes Committee deliberated and Security resolved how a former Imperial had managed to bring a gun into the Senate chambers.

They had been sequestered, because Han was a firebrand and Leia was vehement, Luke had the Force and Chewie was a Wookiee. The Senate and the Alliance, all for the purposes of building a new government, had found cause and need to separate the four. They were singularly more identifiable to the public's mind than anything else, and for that reason were viewed as a potential threat and a danger to the new government.

Han's face was a reminder of cracks in a foundation. Even the contrast of his youthful good looks set against the sallow, sagging skin of the Emperor was a subliminal message of dangerous change. If he were given freedom to move, the public would lack confidence in The New Republic, feeling he might succeed again at a takeover if the whim struck him.

Luke, demonstrating his dazzling control of the Force, stirred uncomfortable feelings from the past. Palpatine had ensured that the Jedi became ineffective during the Clone Wars and convinced the public to distrust the Force. Then he had struck the Jedi down, yet here was one on the Senate floor, fully realized and powerful. The New Republic had no idea what to make of Luke, or what to do with him.

While the policies of the Empire were disassembled, the New Republic found it had inherited perceptions and prejudices that couldn't be erased simply by replacing a logo. The Empire served to benefit humans, and the proud Wookiee that menaced the former Imperials in the spectator's gallery was an incendiary indictment against all humans. Chewie, though unwittingly, brought a new fear to the aftermath of the coup. Could non-humans, once regarded as less intelligent, civilized, evolutionized; could they be relied upon to accept the new direction? Could they remain calm and be patient? should they remain in a lesser role, a lower position, lest they not wait for quiet change and rise up, exacting revenge upon the species they now outnumbered?

Even Leia had isolated herself as Senator Organa. Every former Senator that returned to the New Republic had denounced the Empire. Their speeches described how the Empire held their planets in a stranglehold. They described how a despot's rule caused a breakdown in the intergalactic relations, how their own worlds suffered a loss of civil liberties, sustained economic hardship due to embargoes, and endured political ineffectiveness and corruption. But at least they still had a homeworld. Leia was the only one who had identified herself as a personal vicitm, both as Alderaanian and prisoner of war. She was the only one who pointed an accusing finger at Palpatine, leader of the Empire, and demanded not only justice, but punishment.

They were told it was for their own safety. They weren't naive; it could have only been the partial truth, but they were fine with it. At least Han had been brought the promised food. They had all sat down to eat together, discussing the gunman and interpreting the different ways the committe could view the testimony from Rieekan and Han. They were split on the gunman's target. Han and Chewie thought he was aiming for Leia after speech damning Palpatine, while Leia and Luke felt he blamed Han for the death of his Emperor and wanted revenge.

All in all, it was a homey gathering. There wasn't much for them to do at the moment. They were in a kind of holding pattern, Han thought. Everything was beyond their control now, and they were just waiting the others out to see what new directions their lives would take. Han found he looked forward to the idea of being able to restock the _Falcon's_ stores.

The quiet whisper of the door opening startled them. "I might start offering a punch card for patients like you, Solo," Doc Brack told him cheerfully, breezing into the room. "This is the third time I'll have treated you; two more and the sixth medical visit is free!"

The man entering was a familiar yet jarring sight, as was the slight girl following him in. His manner professed intimacy; his statement professionalism. He spoke as a friend while dressed as an Alliance medic. To Luke it was like bringing the snows of Hoth to the Dune Sea on Tatooine.

Han frowned at the two people they hadn't seen in a long time. At least it seemed like a long time. The medic carried a rectangular hard case. Behind him Maranya wheeled in a cart. He had almost forgotten about them. Almost. They had appeared in his dream just hours ago, the one with the adorable but somehow dead baby rancor that looked like a Wookiee cub. Han looked at Chewie suspiciously. _What a crazy dream_.

Chewie, Luke and Leia recovered their shock quickly. They greeted the pair warmly, continuing the teasing and offering Han up as their target.

"He's got a way with bringing us all together," Luke said, clasping hands with the medic.

"Next time he could try inviting you by comm instead of getting injured," Chewie put in, patting the man's back.

"You got injured, too," Han grumbled. "And I don't need a medic."

Scowling, Han took in their official Alliance uniforms and the natural ease with which they moved in them. It had been less than two weeks since he had left them at Sullust, yet they had obviously embraced their new roles and undergone a sort of transformation.

"You let me decide that," Doc Brack grinned, placing a case on the table and unlatching it.

The Alliance uniform had never graced his own form and now it never would. Luke and Leia had worn it with pride and had now moved on to different costumes while Han was still identifiable by his spacer's vest and Bloodstripe pants. Han felt a familiar disgruntlement; some kind of dissatisfaction. Time had passed without him; people and circumstances and things had all moved on; changed, and somehow he wasn't a part of it. It was hard to put his finger on what exactly unsettled him, but suddenly he felt out of sorts, grumpy.

 _Maybe it's Doc Brack's fault_ , he considered. The last time he'd felt like that was when he was in the medcenter. And the time before that, when he'd regained consciousness in his office at Jabba's. He couldn't understand how Doc Brack had managed to bathe and shave him, and it hadn't awakened him. Was it a physical cause, part of being injured and recovering that left him feeling this way? He wanted to know, but he never had the courage to voice his feelings out loud. He would prefer that Doc Brack offer a list of conditions during recovery: soreness, stiffness, underlying insecurity, fatigue...He didn't want – wouldn't dare – to mention it.

"Your hair!" Maranya exclaimed to Leia and marched up to her to examine the new style. "Why did you cut it?" She seemed puzzled and saddened by Leia's hair, which in contrast seemed bouncy and happy.

Leia smiled self-consciously. "It wasn't by choice," she explained.

"The Emperor tried to kill her, but he only got some hair instead," Luke added. "Good thing she had so much of it."

"Yes, it was my insulation," Leia continued the light tone, but it struck her that maybe that's exactly what her hair had been. Long hair was distinctly Alderaanian. Maintaining the style had been a way to keep her culture alive. It had also been a form of armor. She had wrapped herself up in a dead world and refused to accept invitations to join a new one. When the Emperor had destroyed that world a second time by destroying her hair, and Leia reacted better this time. Instead of withdrawing into grief she had risen to her feet, realizing that clinging to the past had been more damaging than correcting it. Now, Alderaan was vindicated. The Emperor was dead. She didn't have to swath herself in symbols.

"I actually like it," she said, lifting her hair lightly with her palm at the base of her neck and letting the hair bounce off it. "It's very freeing."

"It's pretty," Maranya said politely.

Leia could see Maranya preferred her long hair, but she dismissed her opinion. Leia was actually proud of her hair. It was a badge of honor. And it was temporary; if she wanted long hair again she need only be patient. It would grow.

Two armed escorts accompanied Doc Brack and Maranya and took up positions on either side of the door. Leia, Luke, Han and Chewie fell silent while they tried to work out their presence. "There hasn't been a verdict yet, has there?" Leia asked for all of them.

"No, Senator," one replied affably. "General Rieekan doesn't want a repeat of what happened on the Senate floor."

Leia nodded, accepting their answer. "Yes, I suppose given someone brought a weapon into a Senate session it's good to have precautions."

Chewie spread his arms out. "Come here, Simple Girl," he told her. "You look like you found the sun."

Maranya looked hesitantly at Han, a questioning look on her face.

"He wants a hug," Han told her.

It occurred to Leia, now that she was fluent in Shyriiwook, how subjectively Han translated Chewie's speech. This time he hadn't even translated any of it. Anyone could see by his body language that Chewie requested a hug. But Han had omitted the part about finding the sun. Leia saw it was another poetic Wookiee adage about how a tree gained strength, nourishment, and health from sunshine. Chewie was telling Maranya that she looked good. She didn't correct Han, however, and only looked at him curiously.

Maranya smiled, and with a quick glance for permission from Doc Brack, she wrapped her arms around Chewie's belly, rubbing his new fur carefully. She looked up at him, a troubled look on her face. "You didn't treat this one spot," she observed.

Chewie answered with a soft rumble of sounds.

"Wookiees have honor scars," Han described. "It marks the fallen from a battle. That one will be for Yoda."

"Chewie, that's…," Luke's voice was thick. "That's...I don't know." He considered a moment. "That is an honor." He found he was missing Yoda. His Master had become a constant in his life. He missed the heavy sighs, the thumps of the walking stick as he walked, their connection when they meditated together. On his own, he could travel the tendrils of the Force and touch Yoda's life print, and found contentment and satisfaction, but it wasn't quite the same as occupying Life together. Luke felt there was still a lot more he had to learn about the Force, and was lonely to be once again on his own, figuring things out by himself.

Doc Brack sighed. "We've seen the footage," he told them, kissing the top of Leia's hand. Han snorted. "We were very disturbed. Very worried. Needless to say, we're glad to see you. And have the opportunity to treat you. We volunteered as soon as we heard there was to be a deployment."

"But is Yoda really dead?" Maranya blurted, looking around as if he would pop up from under the table. "I heard it announced. But Vader was there, and I know he couldn't have been. So I thought, maybe..."

There was always a body when someone died at Jabba's. Even if eaten by the rancor, something of the body was left behind. Bones. Maranya had not seen any physical evidence to prove to her Yoda was gone. She did not want him to be gone. He had been one of the first beings she met upon leaving Jabba's palace, and he had shown her kindness. She would never forget that.

"He's no longer with us," Luke said, thinking the euphemism was so true.

Everyone lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

 _Death_ , Luke mused. He saw it for what it was, the other side of existence. But to non-Force users, it sure had the ability to stop all conversation. "He meant for it, though," he told Doc Brack and Maranya. "I think he knew it all along," he smiled at Chewie and Leia, "soon as we landed on his swamp."

"I have one of his drawings," Doc Brack put in. "I picked up a flimsi to make notes in, from when I was catching up on the medical journals during the sand storm. I didn't realize he'd used it. Maranya found it - we had a hard copy made. It's hanging in my office."

"Another kind of honor," Luke said.

"Yes," Doc Brack agreed. "I thought maybe what all of you managed to do at Jabba's was just an outgrowth of helping Solo get out of there. But then you came here, and did it all again, and not for a friend, but for everyone. I hear what they're saying, and I see how they are treating you. That's why I'm here. Both of us." The medic included Maranya with a wave of his hand. "We'll do what we can to help. And if easing the brunt of Force lightning is all I can do, Solo, you'll let me do it."

As if cued, Maranya turned to the cart and brought it up to the table near Han, who eyed it suspiciously.

The cart had three shelves. The top one was bare but the middle and lowest contained large boxes. Han watched as she pulled out individual packets of sterile faux-skin. She punctured the seal and let the substance ooze over her hands. She still never tired of watching the liquid solidify into an elastic rubber-like gell that coated her hands like a new layer of skin. She prepared a second packet for Doc Brack who then applied the faux skin to his own hands. He moved with a practiced, casual air, like it was second nature. Maranya pulled a disposable sterile cloth from another box and placed it on the top shelf of the cart.

Doc Brack began to sort through various implements in his case and set them on the cloth. He eyed Han's burnt cheek expertly and nodded to himself. "Let's see, Solo. Off with the shirt."

Han was watching Maranya. "She's your assistant?"

"She is," Doc Brack nodded. "She's in Medical Aid training. She should be certified soon. You get a lot of practice in, working with armed forces."

"Hey, that's great," Luke said, feeling genuinely glad for Maranya. Maybe it was Chewie's noble treatment of Yoda, a marking of a life lived, that had sparked this, but he was again quite emotional. He clearly remembered Maranya's behavior, at times almost feral. She had been treated with and seen such brutality, that it was a thing of beauty to see her standing next to Doc Brack, waiting to assist him in treating a patient. Her own life was marked now with honor as a life deserving.

Doc Brack shone a penlight on Han's cheek. "You don't look as bad as I thought you might. When we saw that lightning..." he tsked, shaking his head.

"Told you I didn't need a medic. I soaked in a bath for four days." His fingers played with the button fastened on his sternum, but he didn't undo it.

Leia reached for a button on his wrist cuff. "Let's put this battle behind us, once and for all," she said.

Han snatched his arm away. "Does there have to be a crowd in here?" he snapped.

Stung, Leia returned her hands to her lap, puzzling over Han's sudden change in mood. Or rather, sorry for the change in mood. She had a feeling she knew what had caused it.

"Why are you so modest all of a sudden," Luke complained. "I've seen you walk half naked around the Falcon plenty of times."

"Get out," Han ordered the guards at the doorway. "You can keep watch from out there."

"Han," Chewie assuaged his partner. "They're just doing their jobs."

"I don't give a shit. I don't need an audience."

"Han-"

"That goes for all of you. Out." Han rose, ushering everyone through the door.

"Fine," Luke obeyed sullenly. "Let's go to East's room," he told the others.

"You, too," Han said to Maranya, who opened her mouth in protest, but he pushed on her back and suddenly the door was shut in her face.

"I'm supposed to help," Maranya said meekly.

"East's Room?" Leia asked, and Chewie gave her a shrug.

Luke led them to an upper level of the palace, the two guards and Maranya following along. "Han and I found this room when you two first went in with Yoda. I spent a lot of the time afterward in here. Here, or in the ruins. I like the chairs in here."

A droid appeared. "Good afternoon, Sir," it greeted Luke.

"Hi, BX19," Luke answered, his tone friendly. "We don't need anything - we just ate. Unless, do you want a drink, Maranya?"

She shook her head and the droid withdrew. Leia couldn't help smiling at Luke affectionately. Some would not have bothered to greet a droid. Still fewer would probably not have bothered to learn a droid's designation, especially in the context of war and victory. Luke had always been a considerate and empathetic soul, no matter who he talked to, and she thought that just got stronger the stronger he became in the Force. He even made sure to let a droid know it was valued. _Your beauty,_ he had said to her long ago when he described how she used the Force to understand people's motivations. _I know your beauty,_ she thought about him.

Maranya plucked at the faux-skin glove on her hand.

"You wanted to show Han your new job, didn't you?" Luke remarked to Maranya.

 _Yes, she did,_ Leia thought, surprised at her the sinister tone in her head. Maranya was obviously put out. She had been eager to show her new life to the man who had helped her get it, and he had brushed her off.

"I'm sorry he didn't let you," Luke continued. "If you want, we could have Chewie slug him and you can try again."

Maranya smiled slightly, understanding Luke was trying to cheer her up.

"How do you find Sullust?" Chewie asked. "I'm proud you are in training."

"He's asking about what life is like for you on base at Sullust," Luke told her. "Do you like your job?"

Maranya looked from Chewie's earnest face to Luke's politely conversational one. She nodded, her thumb running over the smooth faux-skin. "It's fine," she answered. It certainly was infinitely better than life at Jabba's. She had given her word to Solo and kept it, never offering pleasure to anyone. That was why she'd been eager to see him. "They want me to stay with Doc Brack so that's why I'm in that training program."

Leia dipped her head, piercing through Maranya's comments to understand that the girl was still not completely assimilated yet into conventional society. "What else do you do?"

It was hard to get an idea of what her life was like, and yet at the same time it was very illuminating. Maranya described the foods they served in the cafeteria and listed her favorites. She told them of a game she'd invented on her cot, where she burrowed under the soft blanket and pretended that she was digging in the sand to hide. Leia, Luke and Chewie gathered that she was in counseling and had other classes besides her Medical Training program, but when asked about those her eyes lost their animation and enthusiasm, and she resorted to one word answers. Dob Brack obviously regarded her as both patient and friend. She needed treatment to cure the wrongs done to her, and she needed the support of a role model to help her grow into herself.

 _Well,_ Leia thought to herself, _change is slow. To be done right, it's got to be systemic, from the inside_. Maranya, the New Republic... Leia weighed the two on each hand.

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"Can you feel that?" Doc Brack pressed into Han's shoulder blade. The burns on Han's cheek and wrists were easy to treat. They had no doubt been painful, but had not involved too much subcutaneous tissue and were healing on their own. The one across his back was nastier, and he tested to see if there had been some nerve damage.

"Spent a little too much time underwater, I think," he commented to Han.

"Well, it felt good," Han replied. He was sitting atop the table, watching his legs swing idly.

"I'm sure it was painful when the air touched it, and wearing the same shirt you got injured in didn't help, either. Here." He handed a tube of bacta gel. Solo was an irascible patient, and Doc Brack knew how to get him to cooperate. "You put that on your face and hands. I'll get the back."

The liquid bacta was cool and slippery, and Han couldn't help sigh a bit in relief. "That feels good, too."

"It's what you should have had in the first place," Doc Brack said. "Your blood count is good; I don't think infection will be an issue, but let's do an antibiotic injection to be safe."

Han waited silently while Doc Brack administered the injection and bandaged his back. Then he handed Han a simple undershirt.

"You're a lucky man," he told Han. "Again." He watched Han pull the shirt over his head. "Do you think of Jabba's much?"

Han's head jerked up in surprise. "Huh? Why would I think about that hell hole?"

"I do," Doc Brack admitted. "Maybe you weren't there long enough. I think about it a lot. The rancor."

"The rancor?" Han repeated. His eyes left the medic's, remembering the sweet rancor/cub of his dreams. _A bit of a coincidence,_ he thought.

"Yeah. All the beings that fed it. It seemed so...normal then. When I look back, I can't believe I ... it was normal to us. But it was so wrong."

 _And you were high,_ Han wanted to tell him, but he said nothing.

"I wish that saving the galaxy made it right. But it doesn't."

Han nodded. He knew what Doc Brack meant. He didn't like thinking about being at Jabba's because nothing made him feel good about it; nothing good had ever happened there. Except killing Jabba. That had felt pretty good. And apparently that was wrong too, because now he was facing a murder charge for killing someone even worse. And he hadn't even done the killing! Just like he hadn't been part of feeding the rancor. But not participating in that wrong meant that another part of him had been taken; twisted, all the good parts wrung out, and then that part of him was returned, damaged and broken. And now the damn rancor was showing up in his dreams!

"I don't know what to do about it," Doc Brack confessed.

"Nothing you can do," Han told him, though he'd thought the same himself. _Mind wipe._ "Just don't go back to spice."

The medic shook his head. "No, I won't. I take the pseudo spice. And I'm learning the triggers - I've been talking to someone. Now, you know what my weakness is? Chococo cream!" He rubbed his stomach. "Gained four pounds. Ate a whole pint once." He smiled ruefully.

Han returned the smile. "It's still healthier."

"Oh, yes," the medic chuckled. "What they say for Mar-"

He was interrupted by General Rieeken's entrance. The general looked around the room, his brow creasing into a frown.

"Where are the guards?" he asked the men.

"I dismissed 'em," Han said.

"You can't dismiss them," Rieekan contradicted. "You're not Alliance. They won't follow your orders."

"Well, then I told 'em to leave. They're not outside?"

"No. Solo-"

"They went with the others, then."

Rieekan nodded. "I came for them, too. Where are they?"

"I heard Luke say they were going to East's room." "Where?" Rieekan made one sharp movement with his head as if Han had erupted in some foreign language.

Han wanted to laugh. He waved his hand. "Our special room," he told the General. He slid off the table. "Done Doc?Coming too? I'll show you how to get there, General. Thanks for the grub, by the way."

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Leia rose from her body-conforming seat the second Rieekan appeared, not an easy feat, but it was a telling sign for how much on edge she was. Her sense of foreboding grew when she saw the calm countenance's of Han and Doc Brack with him. _He hasn't told them anything._

Luke had made the motion to turn the holos on, but she dissuaded him. Their futures were being decided. She was not going to listen to idle speculation from the media, who had shown they would say just about anything, and she couldn't bear to watch the Senate itself in session. She didn't want to know the process. She only wanted the result.

"Well?" she demanded of Rieekan the moment he was in the room. The hospitality droid appeared again. "Go away!" she snapped at it.

"Now's not the time, BX19," Luke told the droid apologetically.

"Yes, sir." The droid withdrew.

Rieekan acknowledged Leia's anxiety. He wasn't going to be too helpful, he knew. "I have a report."

"Well?" she said again. Rieekan took them all in at a glance, lingering for a moment on Doc Brack and Maranya.

"Perhaps Maranya and I should leave," Doc Brack offered, picking up on the subtle hint. It would be out on the holonews momentarily anyway. "I'm sorry, General. I'll just collect her."

Maranya stood, looking uncertainly at him. "It's all right, dear," Doc Brack soothed. "I finished with Solo. Let's go write up the patient report."

"Will we see them again?" she asked.

Doc Brack opened his mouth but Luke broke in. "Sure, Maranya," he said easily, not sure if he was telling the truth. But he saw she was struggling. She still saw the little group contained inside the Millennium Falcon during the sand storm as her little family, and one member was gone. He was touched that she understood his loss. "We'll finally give BX19 a chance to serve us later, alright?"

"What did they determine?" Leia rounded on Rieekan as soon as door closed behind the pair.

Rieekan took a big breath. "Some expected things, and some unexpected things."

"Carlist -"

"Believe me, Leia, I'm not taking any pleasure in this." His eyes swept over the group again. "First, Solo. By the footage alone, they've decided he was acting in self defense and the killing was justifiable. He's exculpated, and they as much told the ex-Imperials to hang themselves."

Leia felt tension leave her body and she sat back down. She met Han's eyes. She read disbelief and puzzlement in them. "That's good news," she exhaled in relief.

"Yes," Rieekan continued. "It was a clever move, to show the Emperor using the Force and making all that lightning. It's done more to discredit him than anything." He smiled at them. "It really shocked everyone. Palpatine had everyone convinced that the Jedi were out for themselves, and he put out the belief that the Force sensitive were dangerous. It's been suppressed all these years! Now his former subjects see for themselves that number one, he was a liar; number two, he was no different than the Jedi; and number three, he was more dangerous than any."

Rieekan leaned forward. "In fact, the Force has got the whole galaxy buzzing."

"What do you mean?" Luke asked, his interest more than piqued.

"In part, thanks to both the Emperor and you, Skywalker. The takeover showed the dual nature of the Force. Palpatine used it for power and control, and you used it to save a life and allow peacetime to have a process. You didn't kill that gunmen, and that spoke volumes."

Leia patted Luke on the arm.

"And you'll remember, when Yoda was spotted on base, Mon Mothma was excited about the prospect of the Jedi returning. Which brings me to my second item," Rieekan paused, enjoying how the Wookiee and the three humans were hanging on his every word. "They want you, Skywalker, to present before the Senate, about the Force."

Luke moved backward in his seat. "Me?" he said dubiously.

"Who else?" Chewie hooted.

"I don't ...well, what do they want to know?"

Rieekan shrugged. "Everything you can tell them. They are going to want to be reassured, however. If it isn't possible to abolish the Force in a being, then they will want to know that another Palpatine won't be created."

Luke nodded slowly. "I can do that." He felt Han's intense gaze and grinned knowingly at him.

"This is your chance, kid," Han said. "Start your academy."

"And Solo, you're not entirely in the clear. They've got some provisos for you, regarding your release."

"Like what?" Han asked apprehensively. "No military service, no seeking political office -"

Han laughed bitterly. "They think that'll be tough for me?"

"Security will be keeping tabs on your whereabouts, making sure you don't start a cell. I'm afraid smuggling is out."

Chewie looked over at Han, wondering how his partner was going to take the news. Han conducted his smuggling career with pride. He'd built a reputation with his fast ship and protective delivery.

"I can still fly?" Han demanded.

Rieekan nodded happily. "Oh, sure. They can't interfere in that aspect of your life. Certainly you need to make a living. You're a pilot. But, if you have false registration under the Empire," Rieekan said, knowing Han's court martial had caused the Empire to blacklist him as a legal pilot, "it might behoove you to clean up all those aliases, and just be pilot Han Solo of New Republic."

Han reacted exactly as Luke had a moment ago. Chewie gave him an encouraging shrug. Han nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. I think I can do that."

"You'll never be free of the conspiracy theory, I'm afraid. Both you and the Galactic Alliance," Rieekan told them, looking at Leia. "We've put forth as much as we're going to. Some of us know more than we're telling, and the real suave Senators can smell it. They'll be going over every contact Solo had with the GA, and looking for more. Mon Mothma is going to have that hanging over her the rest of her career, but she's refusing to address it anymore."

"You too, huh Leia?" Luke said.

"It'll die down," Leia agreed. "Soon as Reconstruction is over."

"Well. There's one last thing." Rieekan swallowed. "It's...related to that, and it somehow moved along on its own."

Leia suddenly felt nervous. "What is it?"

"It's you, Princess." Rieekan suddenly got up and moved to where Leia sat. He knelt on the floor, his head bowed, a subject speaking before his Princess.

"Carlist, what is it?" Leia said again.

"Something you said, in your speech. Someone latched on to it, and it's become a big issue."

"What'd she say?" Han was searching his memory. The overlying theme had been the crimes of the Empire under Palpatine, but Leia had touched on Alderaan, being a prisoner, and being a Rebel leader.

"You spoke about the Death Star, and how Corellia and Chandrila were probably targets if it hadn't been destroyed."

"Yes..."

"And you said, forgive me Your Highness, but I'll quote it directly, you said...'I don't think I'd be the only Senator in this room without a planet to represent." Rieekan stopped, allowing Leia some time to absorb the ramifications of her statement.

"Well, she wouldn't," Luke put in.

But Leia's breath caught in her throat.

"They're redrawing the parameters of what it means to be a Senator," Rieekan mumbled sorrowfully.

"Wait a minute," Han objected.

Both Rieekan and Leia turned to him, her eyes wide and frightened. "Because there's no Alderaan," Han stated. Both his hands were up, as if he had caught something heavy and was trying not to drop it. "Because there's no Alderaan, they think, someone's _actually_ _proposing_ , there shouldn't be a Senator from there?"

"One of the Senators stood up and point blank said, 'then why is she here'," Rieekan told Han.

"That's ridiculous," Luke said indignantly, wanting to go over and grasp Leia's hands. Although she looked composed, he'd seen her like this before. It had been a while, this demeanor when she cut everything off, everyone too, leaving herself isolated within her own walls. _Leia,_ he implored, trying to reach her through the Force. She wouldn't even look at him.

"What have they decided?" she asked Rieekan coldly.

"The Senator, as it stands now, represents the planet. The planet is a political body," he said, knowing he wasn't quite answering her question.

"That's bullshit," Han thundered. "What about the beings on the planet? There's still Alderaanians - not everyone was on planet when it blew."

Rieekan nodded. "Yes, but they have relocated to another planet. Another different political body with its own senator."

Leia stood and moved to a far wall, her back to the others and her eyes raking desperately over the pattern in the fabric wallpaper.

"Oh my gods," Luke groaned.

"Have they eliminated the Seat?" Han asked.

Rieekan shook his head. "No. And they may not. As I said, it's become a big issue. They are debating the concept of the political body. But, for now," his voice dropped to a grieved hush, full of shame, "her status is revoked."

"Oh my gods!" Luke declared. He stood also, looking at Leia's stoic back. "Leia." She made no response, so he went over to the one person who somehow always managed to bring her back to them. He pushed Han on the shoulder.

Han gave him a helpless look and Luke answered with his own insistent one. Chewie watched the interchange carefully. He had made no comment because he knew Han would ignore him, too intent on Rieekan's part to bother to translate for him. He didn't like this development at all. It reeked of manipulation and self-interest, and he began to despair if there would be any change for the good, ever again. His heart broke for Leia. Once again they, whoever they were, had managed to take something from her. And yet, he observed, looking at her spine of steel, they would never be able to take it all.

Han stepped over hesitantly. "Leia? Princess?"

She turned to face him, eyes glittering with unshed tears. A small smile, bitter and sardonic graced her lips. "You call me Princess? When I have no planet? No political body?"

Han nodded gravely. "You're Princess," he told her.

She stared at him disbelievingly, thinking Nerfherder. _You don't get it_. But his eyes were intent on her, warm and serious. He was so troubled his eyes couldn't decide whether to be brown or green, but his uncertainty was within himself. Behind that was the unshakable conviction that she was indeed Princess Leia, and that was all she needed to be.

He noticed her softening. "Or do you prefer Sweetheart?" he asked, the playfulness suddenly back.

"I want to go to the _Falcon_ ," she decided. She would not stay within these palace walls a moment longer; not when it toyed with her, not when she had given it all to revert the palace back to the galaxy; not when it rejected her. "I need to be on the _Falcon,_ " she repeated.

"I'll take you," Han said softly, comprehending. He offered her his arm, and she held it elegantly, and Luke noticed how her devastation vanished as they swept from the room without another word to anyone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luke's never been interested in politics, Han mistrusts it, Chewie's perspective of time minimizes it, and now even Leia learns that politics can fail.


	51. Chapter 51

Han's fingertips were on her elbow, insistent and protective. They passed wall hangings and doorways, colors and shapes. Their feet made no noise on plush carpeting or their boot heels clicked on tile. Murmurs of spoken words drifted around her, voices male and female, greetings and questions.

Leia let Han lead her, aware of little except the lighting was either harsh or soft, the voices loud or polite. Her eyes were wide and distant, focusing on something unseen, far off in the middle range. Her lips were parted, her expression frozen and blank. As they walked she replayed Rieekan saying it again and again, so sorrowful, _there's no seat for you right now_ , always followed by the same thought _what just happened?_

Han steered Leia through the labyrinth of the palace corridors and levels, eventually making their way to the roof. He held her elbow, noting how she glided stiffly by his side, as if walking were an automatic response to his touch on her arm. She would have no memory later of moving through the palace, he knew.

The same thing had happened to him once, when they brought him from the brig to the hearing for his court martial. He remembered them coming to get him, and then suddenly he was in a court room, standing for the oath. He had stared dumbly, thinking _how did I get here?_ The walk through the building, the speeder ride, it had all gone by unawares. As soon as he was standing in the court room, there was another layer of thought. _How the hells did I get here?_ The impulse to save the Wookiees hadn't been a decision; it had been a reaction. Then boom, boom, boom; one after the other; pieces of his life fell away. A dream, a commission, a career.

Leia was watching pieces of her own life fall away now. _At least I did it to myself,_ Han thought. _I caused my own downfall. She's been blindsided._ She was in shock, he knew. She'd come out of it, he had faith of that. Hell, he had managed it. _Sink so low there's only one way to climb, and that's up._

The Palace corridors were full of beings. He brushed shoulders with Alliance personnel, making eye contact, daring them to react. They spoke as he passed, usually addressing Leia. "Your Highness," they greeted respectfully. Han kept a brisk pace, Leia in stride with his, leaving no time for the Alliance member to notice she had not responded. On every level a section was corralled off. These areas were very crowded, and Han's eyes raked each face, burning them into memory. Many held holo cameras and wore press badges. They barked Leia's personal name and took pictures, and Han scowled at their familiarity and disrespect. _I'd like to take that camera and smash it in your face._ Those in front were pushed from behind, and it took a moment for Han to register that these beings were on-lookers, beings curious about the celebrity of the New Republic. They wanted to catch glimpses of Mon Mothma, the Liberator, the ex-Senator Organa.

Finally they reached the rooftop. "Liberator! Liberator!" Han heard almost as soon as the door let him through. The crowd was held back just off to his right. A camera flashed and Han shot his arm out, pushing the photographer hard. He ignored the shouts, and stood blinking in the natural light of day.

A sentry stopped them. "Captain Solo," he told Han. "General Rieekan comm'd up, granting permission for the use of a speeder." He handed Han a flimsi and stylus. "Just need you to fill out this requisition form."

Cameras continued to flash. Han was jumpy. "You can't kick them out of the Palace?" he indicated the gawking crowd. He scanned it again, remaining vigilant, in case another crazy gunman decided either of the pair were too dangerous to the former Empire to allow them to remain among the living.

The sentry was sympathetic. "Public Relations says it's a form of demonstrating the democratic movement and that we have to let them gather. They go through a check point, though." He cast a careful eye to the crowd, seeing his compatriots were keeping the peace.

"There's a PR department now?" Han asked distractedly. He scanned the flimsi. It wanted dates and serial numbers. "Can you fill this out for me? I'm in a hurry."

"Yes, Sir," the sentry agreed. "General Rieekan already said he'd sign for you. I just need your destination."

"Destination?" Han echoed blankly.

"Yes, Sir. Where you will park the speeder."

"Uh." Han thought. He couldn't remember the _Falcon's_ assigned berth. "I'm just going to my ship. The docking bay across town." He gestured with his arm.

"Docking bay number?"

"Uh," Han said again. It seemed the location of the slot they had assigned him had disappeared from his memory. He considered throwing Leia into the speeder and just taking off, but Rieekan was obviously doing him a favor, and the least he could be was cooperative.

The sentry waited patiently.

Han cast his mind back in time: he was sitting in the cockpit, receiving docking instructions, and complaining about the size. "A slot," was all he came up with. "Eleven-oh something."

"I also need how long you intend to have the speeder out."

Han looked at Leia, as if her face would prompt his memory.

"Sir?" the sentry politely asked. "Yeah, I'm thinking." Han knew the exact location, but he just didn't know the number.

"Princess?" he turned to Leia. "Do you remember?"

She shook her head slightly in answer. Apparently she was listening, but she made no eye contact with either Han or the sentry, and continued to look off into the distant horizon, withdrawn.

"Eleven-oh something," Han repeated. "It's the _Millennium Falcon_. Can you look it up?"

" _Feathered Sands,_ " Leia corrected quietly.

"Oh yeah," Han remembered. It felt like it had been ages. "She's right," he told the sentry, surprised but glad Leia had contributed. "She's docked under the _Feathered Sands._ "

"For you, I'll look it up," the sentry granted with a supportive grin. Han frowned at his friendly manner, sensing that even among Alliance personnel he was something of a celebrity. The sentry was glad to be the one who had to stop the Liberator to check out a speeder. He had the glory of the encounter, and would enjoy reliving it to anyone who listened. Neither he nor Leia were especially impressive right now. She wasn't talking and he seemed barely able to string a thought together. Inwardly, he didn't care. _Fuck 'em all_.

Han nodded and brought Leia over to the speeder door. He took her elbow again, and pushed upwards, indicating he wanted her to climb in. "37110C," he said with sudden memory, triumphant.

"Yes, Sir, that checks out," the sentry said. "Do you need a map of the hangar bays?"

"No, I know exactly where she is, I just didn't know the number. Been a long few days," Han said.

"Yes, Sir. Do you have any idea when you'll be returning the speeder?"

"None whatsoever," Han answered. "Make up something. Call me if you need it back." He slammed his door, shutting out the noise of the holo reporters shouting his name, the engine noises of other speeders, the companionable cheerfulness of the sentry.

Han sighed, rubbing his jaw. He looked sidelong at Leia, wondering if he should ask if she were alright. She would tell him she was, but he knew it would be a lie. _Should I pick a fight? Call her out on it?_ Too soon, he decided. There'd be time enough for that. She deserved some time to sift through this new mess.

He started up the speeder and the monstrosity that was the Palace fell away, growing smaller, until he veered on another course and put his back to it.

Leia kept her face to the window. She recognized Citizen's Square, and the huge news screen. The last time she had been this way was with Chewie, when Han's face graced the giant screen, delivering the coup statement. _"Don't let 'em turn weapons against you,"_ he had cautioned, deviating from her penned words. A wise man, she thought bitterly. Somehow, she'd made herself a target. If Han and Chewie were right that the gunman was after her; then she'd become a target literally, but also figuratively. The new weapon was politics. Luke and Han were no match for it. She wasn't really surprised. Maybe she should have seen it coming. But she was deeply disappointed. _My fellow Senators_. It was betrayal, that's what it was. And for what?

She willed herself back to numbness, staring out the window and watching all the traffic. There were lives in those speeders. Everyone off to somewhere, with a destination. She could see inside some of the cabs. Beings laughing, talking; one even seemed to be dancing in his seat, and singing. Were they glad for the coup? Were their lives improved? Had they noticed a difference? _The Emperor's dead and I've lost my Senate seat. Do they care?_ The speeder zoomed along, and the spire of the Jedi Temple came into view.

"Luke and I went to the Temple," Leia finally broke the silence between them. Her voice was hollow, like she was in a trance.

"Yeah?" Han's eyes left traffic briefly to look at her. Her face was directed out the window, and her words seemed to disappear in the wind. "See anything interesting?"

She shrugged slightly. "A ruin," she answered quietly. She was recalling her conversation with Luke, her worries that she was responsible for Han forever being an outcast. She had never expected that she would be the one cast out. "One more ruin," she said again, thinking of herself.

"Seen one, seen 'em all?" Han asked, risking another glance at her.

"Not exactly," she responded, lapsing into silence again.

They didn't speak the rest of the way. Han had a feeling he'd offended her somehow. He landed the speeder in slot 3711OC. At least here it was quiet, just pilots and techs; the way it should be. No gawkers, media, or protesters. Han palmed open the hatch to the _Falcon_.

Inside, the silence was complete and welcome. Leia heard Han sigh in contentment, and he wandered off to inspect his ship. Leia made her way to the lounge and sat at the gaming table. _I_

 _'m back,_ she told the ship.

It was steadfast, loyal, accepting. _Whatever you need,_ Leia felt it seemed to answer.

 _That's what I came to figure out_. She stared at the holochess squares. Her two aspects, head and heart, grieved and raged. Part of her was still in disbelief. Part of her was crushed. And another part was enraged.

Didn't anyone have any idea how much she had sacrificed? Didn't it matter? At all?

Her father – Bail- had approached her with the idea of carrying the Death Star plans to the Rebels, and she had agreed to it because he might have been right - she might be the one to get away with it. She had done it so the Death Star would be destroyed. She hadn't done it to become some sort of spotlight-seeking, power-hungry glory hound.

And all the motivations for the Rebellion were just swept away with that idiot proposing her seat be revoked. _This shouldn't be about me_ , her head claimed; it was about all the suffering so many worlds had endured thanks to Palpatine….she shook her head. The only thing that monster did right was seize power so he wouldn't have to play politics.

Han sauntered into the lounge, on his way to inspecting whatever. She envied him. He'd made it a practice to remain aloof, unmarked, and here he was, checking to see if all the lights were working. Or whatever it was he was checking. Through all this he remained unchanged. _Seen one Han Solo, seen 'em all._

He stood there, looking at her. _That's not fair you know_. She wasn't sure if it was the ship answering, or if the argument came from her heart.

"You OK?" he asked her

She nodded once. _No_.

"Want anything?"

She shook her head no. _Yes._

He moved along. _You're lying, Sweetheart. But I'll be patient_.

She put a finger under her lower lip, to stop her chin from trembling. _I only wanted to make a difference. I only wanted the world to be a better place._

 _You have_ , his ship answered.

_Why am I the only one to pay the price?_

_Are you?_

Han came back in. He moved uncharacteristically noisily, settling heavily onto the bench opposite her. He placed his elbows on the table and clasped his hands. His gaze was steady on her face.

They regarded each other. If it had been yesterday Leia would have enjoyed the staring contest and lost because she would have begun to laugh. She knew now she would win. She was stone.

Han spoke. "Screw 'em".

She watched his mouth, the sideways upward slant when he talked. Was it due to the scar on his chin? Even in her dark mood, there was something about his frank expression, his crooked mouth, that was appealing. She lifted her brows slightly. "Screw them?" she echoed, her mouth unable to move like his.

He nodded. "Yeah. Screw 'em." His concern and sympathy, expressed in foul defiance, was endearing. _He's ours_ , she told his ship and her heart.

"They're a petty bunch of opportunists," he said. "You don't need 'em."

"It's not that easy." She filled her chest with air. "They certainly don't need me." Her stomach sank and she felt sick, envisioning the Senate voting to kick her out.

"It is easy," he argued. "Look -let's assume they have lofty ideals, like you. They don't, but let's just assume they do. They want a smooth, quiet takeover. They want to erase the last twenty years, and they want to appease the former Imps without continuing the war. It's hard to do that with you sitting next to them, wearing a big sign that says 'I'm from Alderaan.' There's no erasing Alderaan. It's like a cancer."

"Why should it be like that, though?" she rounded on him. "Why?" The anger that lurked underneath her shock and resignation was blossoming. She heard the harsh tone of her voice and knew she was talking loudly, but was unable to restrain herself. "You're saying Alderaan is a cancer? Cut it off and remove it so the disease doesn't spread through the rest of the galaxy? The Empire was the cancer, Han. The Empire."

Han was nodding. In truth, he was completely in agreement with her, and enjoyed seeing her wrath. He thought it was healthy. He pushed her some more."Look at it from their point of view. No citizen is going to be at ease with the New Republic, not with Alderaan occupying a seat, a symbol of how a government can go wrong. The New Republic will never be trusted. They had to let the Senator from Alderaan go. It was an obvious move."

"What?!" Leia sputtered in outrage. She slapped the table with her palm. "And why shouldn't I at least be allowed to finish my term? The current Senate is resuming just like it was before the Emperor disbanded it. All those Senators lost their seats, same as me, when it was disbanded. We all came rushing back. We're under Reconstruction, for gods' sake. All their systems suffered under the Empire. Yes, so Alderaan suffered the most. It's gone. If we're picking up where it left off, why am I excluded? Why? I should be allowed to contribute. I still have constituents. I don't care where they are living. They elected me, and gods damn it, I'll represent them."

Han stood abruptly. "Well, my job is done here. You're pissed off. I'll leave you to it."

She gazed up at him. "You baited me?" At first her tone held disbelief but she quickly shifted moods, finishing in irritation laced with appreciation.

He smiled cockily. "I don't like my princesses mopey."

She shook her head as he left. _He played you_. She considered indulging herself with continuing to be angry with him. It was easier, and it was fun, too, since deep down they were on the same page. But she also saw his intent. He was spurring her forward.

The motivations of the Senate were still deeply troubling. She felt the anger lapping at her again, a self-righteous indignation. _Alderaan, a cancer!_ A heat crept up her face. _How could anyone think that?_

Her fingertips pressed into the table's surface until the tips turned a numbing red and the pressure forced her back into the seat. Had she ever been so angry? Her hatred of the Empire had been an anger very much in control. It was calm and calculating. Alderaan had been a victim while she had been victimized. There was a difference. It made her feel out of control.

 _Is this the Dark Side? Should I be frightened for myself?_ This anger was intense, burning. She pictured the Senate floor and their self-serving vote and just seethed. She seethed because they used her; they had crushed her, and they had separated her from them. _A bit of Vader in you,_ the Han of her dreams had said. Had she read the omen wrong? Instead of affirmation was it a warning?

Vader had made her, and Vader had fallen completely to the Dark Side. She thought of him in her situation. Vader, in her shoes, would have destroyed the Senate. He would get caught up in the emotions, and the Dark Side of the Force would feed them until they didn't let go of him. She needed to let go of them all. There were so many. Not only anger and hurt, but disappointment, bitterness, chagrin. Shame, too, and sadness.

She had never thought herself as one easily seduced, even by the Dark Side. She was absolutely positive Luke was resistant to it. It was she who taught Luke to embrace both the good and bad of their characters. _Black, white, good and bad. No secrets._ If there was one thing she had learned from listening to Yoda and meditating with Luke in the Force, is that an answer was never that simple. Calling Alderaan a cancer and the other Senators petty opportunists was only seeing the Dark Side at work. Luke had taught her that Light interacted with Dark; that the two should never be separated. Two sides of the Force, two sides of the story.

A clanging noise broke into her thoughts. It wasn't a shipboard alarm, and it didn't come from the communications console. She concentrated on the noise. Somewhere in the ship. Han. Han was banging on something. She wondered what he had found to work on. The ship was in very good condition. Did he really need to be starting a project?

She flitted from her seat to find Han lying on the floor, hitting a metal plank that was bolted to a panel in the galley.

He saw her feet and rolled on to his back, congratulating himself that he was able to distract her. _Gotcha._ "Something I can do for you, your Highness?"

"That doesn't seem a productive way to unbolt the panel, whacking on it," she told him."Whacking loosens the bolts up. If they're too tight, whack them, and they turn in your hand like butter."

"Is that an analogy for what you just did with me?"

"Works on a lot of things, Sweetheart." Han turned back on his side to hide a smile.

She stared at a dirty smudge on his shirt. He raced from irreverent to serious to helpful, and at the same time he was trying to be productive. "You know, I could understand it," Leia quietly told his back, "if after the Reconstruction they voted to remove my seat. I could understand that. But during this time, my voice should be a part of the Reconstruction, because I, because Alderaan, endured so much."

"You're better than them," he said. "They're scared of you."

"Scared?" she sniffed. "What do they have to be scared of? I don't understand. All I wanted was to help build a new galaxy."

"Yeah, well," he said indifferently. "Maybe you'll still get a chance."

"They're going to make this government without me." There, she had said it. The phrase had been lurking below everything, below the hurt and confusion, and it caused a real pain.

Han waggled a brow sneakily. "Want me to arrange a little coup?"

She was in no mood for banter. "That's not even funny to think it," she rebuked. "It's no way to make change."

"Oh?" He rolled to a sitting position. "What do you call the last three years?"

She nodded her head wearily. "It was a fight, yes. Not a play for power."

Han watched her feet disappear. He resumed his banging, thinking he was right; she was better than them. She was better than him, too, but he wasn't scared of her. It was mind boggling, how those other Senators could work in her presence and not want to become better themselves. It's the effect she'd had on him. It was why he turned himself into Jabba; why he took Luke's lightsaber, why his face became known as the Liberator.

Leia peered at her face in the reflector tacked to the wall of the 'fresher. There was a tightness around her eyes and her brow seemed to be permanently wrinkled. She frowned, changing the direction of the wrinkles, then swept the head band off her hair. Her brow smoothed out and her short hair bounced merrily. _I'm sorry,_ she told the tired woman looking back at her. _Sorry for what, dear?_ her heart answered. _Don't be sorry_. A swirl of emotions jumped at her, ones she couldn't separate. All of them brought her back to the duplicity of the Senate. _Self serving bastards._

Han was right. _Petty opportunists_ , he had said. _Don't let 'em turn weapons against you. Are they scared of me?_ she wondered. It was a blow, she could not deny it. More than anything, she was terribly hurt, and the hurt gave way to anger when she saw how she was being used. _I need to get over this. I can't keep dwelling on it._

She left the 'fresher. Han was still on the floor but the panel was now removed.

"Got a question for you," he called out as she passed.

She turned. "What?"

"What would Luke make of all this?"

"Luke?" she questioned confusedly.

"Yeah. Master Luke. What's the Force got to do with all this?"

She found it interesting he would ask. She cocked her head, considering. "I don't know." She found she was at a loss as to how to answer. "I need to think about that. That's what Luke would say anyway, go meditate."

"Not much help," he commented.

"What do you know?" she snapped, whirling on her heel. "Have you ever thought about anything once in your life?"

"I have," he answered belligerently. "I'm here, aren't I?" He heard her stomping back to the lounge and smiled into his wires. _Gotcha_.

Leia activated the chessboard. She keyed up a move, and immediately the opposing team's warrior came out, picking up her piece and smashing it back to the board, where it lay defeated a moment before the game controls made her warrior piece fade away and added a score to the opponent. "Hey," she objected. "That was vicious." _It's you_. This time both her head and heart were in agreement. With helpless anger she pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes, pushing tears back down.

She fought for control, her mouth turned down and breath coming rapidly. When she finally trusted her eyes to not cry she released her hands and found Han standing there again.

"Will you leave me alone?" she said through clenched teeth.

His face was serious. "You're going to be fine, you know," he told her.

She craned her neck up at him. "You think so, do you."

"Yeah. You gotta see it for what it is. Remember Vader?" "

'Remember Vader'? she quoted back at him. What the hell about Vader did he want her to remember? That he had fathered her? Tortured her? Was an evil Sith Lord? "What?" she asked, perplexed. But he was moving away again, leaving the lounge. "What?" she called after him. "Now you're talking like Yoda?"

He was gone. Leia sighed. _You're being too hard on him_. She wished she could handle life's disappointments like he did, just brush them off. Did he though? _Han, what did you want most?_

 _Shoes. It got cold._ Little boy Han. All those homeless kids he told her about in orbit over Corellia. _I'm not the only one to pay a price, am I? They made it about me, but I can't make it about me._

 _Remember Vader._ Of course she remembered him. Too much about him. Her eyes flicked in the direction of Luke's cabin, where she had discovered Vader's life suit. She had impersonated him. Is that what he wanted her to remember?

 _See it for what it is_. Always such a succinct, terse way of speaking, so she was never sure exactly what he meant. Luke telling her maybe _Han is the way you access the Force._

 _Remember Vader_. Her biological father. A man who loved so fiercely it crippled him. A man so scared and afraid he sold his own soul, never realizing he was being used. A man powerless, spineless; he needed a life suit to keep him standing. _Father, I am your conscience_.

Han was back, depositing a cup of kaf in front of her. She barely saw him; sensed him better, and with eyes that stared distantly ahead she cupped her hands around the warm mug. There was a squeeze on her shoulder and she was alone again with her thoughts.

Vader had shot Han, almost killed him. She blinked, remembering her own feeling of helplessness as her hands and mouth fought to keep him alive. Had it been like that for Vader, helpless as visions of his wife died in childbirth?

She eyed Han again, busying himself with his ship. His face was peering upwards at something, and he was reaching. She would never have sold her soul to save Han, even as much as she needed him to live. There was life with someone, and there was life without, and when the former became the latter all one could do was to tuck that someone into your heart's memory. It was all that was left.

Was Han dusting? She squinted. This brave man, this aggravating, fighting captain, was dusting.

He supported her. He cared about her, and was dusting because he didn't want her to know.

_He loves you._

_I know, ship._ She remembered the expression on his face when she came out dressed in Vader's life suit. Apprehension had quickly turned to admiration. _You're the bravest person I know._

She had survived Vader's torture. More than survived. Not given him what he desired to know and what she had given him had been a lie. _I am strong_.

Palpatine had been unable to quash the rebellion because of her. Palpatine had tried to use her, just as he used Vader.

Han was now kneeling on the floor, cleaning the kick plates bolted to the walls where they met the floor. A portion of his shirt had become untucked.

_A bit of Vader in you._

Yes. She had been in Vader's shoes, literally. She had enclosed herself in his dark and twisted self, and her light had shone. If she knew which Senator it was making the power play, would she…? She wanted to. Who wouldn't? But she had Luke, and she had Han; Chewie, and even General Rieekan. She would lose them if she gave in.

And what did it mean, really? she wondered, sipping kaf. She wasn't a Senator. For now. Maybe they would vote to reinstate her. And if they didn't? She was Princess Leia. She was an Alderaanian, and even if the surviving offworld Alderaanians had another Senator to represent them, they would still look to her as their Princess. She was the Face of the Rebellion, a cautionary tale that could forever remind the public they could never stop checking the motivations of their government. She was Princess Leia, member of the Committee for the Displaced, and she would still make a difference.

Han had rolled up his shirt sleeves, grown grimy with dirt. Fondly, she observed him. He was concentrated on his task, and possibly had forgotten about her, if only to lend her his support by being where she was. She heard Yoda's voice. _Present is he_.

"Han?" she said.

"Yeah?" he drawled.

"Do you need some help?"

He stopped scrubbing and sat back on his heels to look at her. "Floors could be swabbed," he said, eying her meaningfully.

He was doing it again, saying one thing and meaning another, but it was all in the eyes. "I feel like doing something," she told him.

He nodded slowly, still gauging her. "Mops are -"

"I know where they are." She got up to fetch one.

Han shook his head, resuming his scrubbing. He checked his chrono. _Not bad, Princess. Just a couple of hours._ She wasn't over it yet, he could tell. She had just completed meditating Luke-style, but now she would do it his way, with her hands busy and her mind just as free. He was looking forward to it.

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Leia stood back, appraising her work. The _Falcon_ had been home base more or less the past several months, and while she and everyone else had done their part to keep it relatively tidy, the ship had not seen a thorough scrubbing in a long time.

She wiped her forehead with the back of her palm, blowing air of her cheeks.

Han sauntered in. "I keep finding sand," he said. He bent from the waist, casting his reflection in the durosteel, and grinned. "Not bad for a Princess."

Leia heaved a satisfied sigh. It felt good to be productive. It was drudgery, to be sure, not the kind of task a Princess would think enjoyable, but there was something to be said about the repetitive motion of the scrubbing, rinsing, cleaning. She found that without thinking about things, she had somehow gained perspective.

The _Falcon_ was a sympathetic ear. She told the ship her story, from the day she was elected Senator to her last moment on the Senate floor, accusing Palpatine of war crimes, all the while scrubbing, wringing a cloth out in a rinse bucket, spreading soapy water around. There were times when her anger overtook her and she slapped her cleaning equipment around, treating the _Falcon_ roughly. There were other times when tears blurred her work area and she had to stop because she couldn't see what she was doing.

For the most part Han left her alone. He had done all this deliberately, she saw. _Oh, but he is a sly pirate_.

"Better?" he asked her now, a knowing glint in his eyes.

She nodded curtly. She was exhausted; she felt like the Galaxy had wrung her out and squeezed her dry, but it was vastly different than mired in hurt, loss and pain.

"Wanna get something to eat?"

She was feeling better, but not yet up for venturing into the city.

"No, I'm not hungry."

"Liar. There's nothing to eat on board. Why don't I see what's available here in the port's hangars? I'm sure there's a few eateries."

"And worse. I'm not sure if the Liberator should be out on his own," Leia said.

"Hm. Think Luke's hospitality droid caters?"

He won a slight laugh out of her. "I'd like to see Luke," she said. "Comm him. He can bring us something. Chewie, too."

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Leia slipped into Chewie's seat in the cockpit. Han was in his own chair, lounging comfortably with his head against the seat back and an ankle slung over the other leg.

"I was looking for you," Leia said. "I put all the stuff away."

Han nodded his thanks. "I'm being-watching."

Leia smiled slightly. "Coruscant is always good for that." She gazed out the window. In front of the _Falcon_ a tech was on the hangar floor, wrestling too many over-sized pipes onto a repulsor cart. She watched the mixture of modern technology and old-fashioned elbow grease. "I'm surprised you don't have a cleaning 'bot," she remarked to Han. "That was hard work."

"Who says I don't?" Leia gaped at him. "You mean – my back is killing me! Why did we do all that ourselves?"

He smiled disarmingly at her. "I use it for the nasty messes. Chewie and I have plenty of time to scour when we're in hyperspace. 'Sides, Your Highness, admit it: you needed that physical activity." Outside the window, a pipe rolled off the cart and the tech frantically tried to stop its roll. Han grunted with amusement. "Third time that's happened."

She put her chin in her hand and glared at him, but it was an act she knew he would see through. "Yoda had Luke do strenuous exercises when he was first learning the Force," she said. "Something about the body expanding the mind."

"Didn't Luke say the Force is existence? Doesn't that make it physical then?" Han asked.

Leia blinked at him, surprised to be having a philosophical discussion with him about the Force. "I hadn't considered that," she admitted.

"I probably just said the same thing as Yoda speak," Han said.

Leia laughed. "I suppose it can't hurt for me to be doing something physical. "I really haven't in a long time – since Dagobah really. Been cooped up. In a sand storm, in a Senate…." She waved her hand, her own joke falling flat. "But my back does ache."

Han stood up and came behind her chair. His large hand rested on her upper spine, and he pushed gently so that she leaned forward.

Leia's heart beat nervously. She hadn't intended to give him an invitation to be physical with her. He didn't ask permission, just began to rub deep into her muscles. She found her chin moved to her chest and she closed her eyes. _That feels good,_ something in her confessed. _Don't lose sight of yourself_ , her head cautioned. "Were you able to raise Luke on the comm?"

"Yeah." Han's warm hands left her back for a moment as he reached forward to grab his comm. "They're on their way. He sent this for you." He keyed up the message and set the comm on the console board. A small holovid appeared. Han's hands resumed their caressing massage while Leia saw Chewie hooting with laughter, and Doc Brack was pointing his finger out a window. They appeared to be in a speeder.

Luke was narrating the holovid. "Leia, I don't know how you're feeling, and I hope you're okay, but you just have to see this. Bring us closer, Chewie." The vid zoomed to enlarge the screen, too fast, and it blurred. Leia heard Luke swear softly. "I can't ever operate these," he muttered. "I'll try again."

"Is that Citizen's Square?" Leia asked. Han nodded, still massaging her muscles. "What is that?" She peered closer, and saw that underneath the giant news screen someone had installed a smaller monitor. Wires powering it stretched along the stonework, slipping under a windowsill.

Words flashed: Princess Leia for President. A still photo of Leia appeared, dressed in her Senate dress-shirt of Han's.

"Did I mention I like that outfit?" he said.

"What is this?" she asked. She wasn't sure yet how to react. Her head couldn't decide whether to be tickled, shocked, or embarrassed.

Leia's voice issued from the screen, though the photo did not change.

"Not all humans think alike," she intoned.

"That's when you were defending Wookiees from that idiot Moff," Han told her, his hands moving over her ribs, and she nodded, recognizing it.

"What shall I say? What shall I say? What shall I say?" The screen now showed a photograph of the Senate floor, sweeping over the many beings who held the title Senator. "What shall I say? What shall I say?"

It was the Inquisitor Duro's voice, sped up. The phrase was repeated over and over while the screen lingered on the Senate body. "Not all humans think alike," Leia's voice said again, and once more 'Princess Leia for President' flashed.

"It's funny, huh?" Luke asked. "See you soon."

"It is funny," Han agreed. "You've got some support out there, it looks like."

She was becoming more and more of a rag doll; the thoughts and fears and hurts of the day kneaded into one sensation of relaxation. "Doc Brack's coming? Is Maranya with him?" She hated herself for asking.

"Yeah." His voice was toneless.

"Han." She straightened her spine, and turned in the seat to look at him. On impulse she stood on it, and in the Wookiee's oversized seat she was now slightly taller than he was. "Tell me something."

"Tell you what?" he asked guardedly.

 _I_ _wonder what his head tells him_ , Leia thought. For surely, he had received some signal for self-preservation. A shadow fell over his eyes, turning them brown, but he held her eyes steadily. "Tell me something from Jabba's." She gripped both his forearms. "You were gone so long, and we had nothing from you. Now you're back, and it's like….did you ever have a flimsi that got water damage? And pages and pages go black, and you can't follow the story anymore because you missed too much? That's what it's like. Fill in the story for me."

"That's what it's like for me," Han said. "When I look at you and Luke. Even Chewie. All that time on Dagobah and I have no idea what was going on. Except for gray fur in Bay One, and now you tell me Luke exercised."

Leia gave a scared laugh. "I'm sorry."

Han looked down at her hands, still gripping his forearms. Leia was the bravest person he knew, and had survived through so much. He was a coward who didn't deserve her, and when it all went to hell he wanted her to see that at least he had his moments trying to be brave. "There was a rancor," he said quietly.

Leia nodded. "Chewie told us. And he told us about the trap door in the throne room."

Han nodded. "It was up to the Punisheds – that was me; I was one – it was up to us to feed it. It was what we did, or didn't do, that made the choice for who went to the Rancor."

Leia swallowed. Her hands moved to his shoulders and she gripped them tightly, as if she were fearing for his life. "How did you manage to not get chosen?"

"No, you don't understand. It was fed slaves."

Her eyes were large on his, trying to absorb some of the horror. She knew he was telling her things without saying them again, and she needed time to sort it all out. But just then the comm chirped and Luke's voice came across the cockpit.

"Hey you two, we're here and we all have our hands full. Open the hatch, will you? His voice fell to a whisper. "And sorry, we've had a few latchers-on."

Leia and Han turned to view the boarding party from the cockpit security screen. Leia groaned. Behind Doc Brack and Maranya stood Mon Mothma and Carlist Rieekan, both looking like guilty intruders.

Han caught Leia's look of dismay. "I'm Captain," he said. "It's my ship. I don't have to give them permission to board," he offered.

"That's okay," Leia said resignedly. "Thank you. But wait." She made sure he was looking at her. Both her hands now cupped his neck under his jaw, her fingers barely meeting at the back of his head. She made a big decision and, closing her eyes, brought her lips to Han's.

He welcomed her advance, responding warmly and deeply with his lips while his arms squeezed her to him.

"Come on, open up!" Luke complained through the comm. "What are you doing in there?"

They both laughed. Han pressed the release and together they went to face the dinner party, Leia laughing to herself as she imagined Mon Mothma's face when Han denied her permission to board.


	52. Chapter 52

Han stood with Leia at the top of the Falcon's ramp access as the others filed by. He leaned casually against the wall, boots crossed at the ankles and arms against his chest. Again, he felt at odds watching Doc Brack and Maranya file behind General Rieekan, noting their Alliance issued clothing and thinking he should have at least changed his shirt after doing all that scrubbing. Rieekan tossed them a nod and Doc Brack and Maranya both breezed by, eager to be back on the Falcon. Chewie, carrying satchels by their handles in each hand, halted at the ramp top immediately, stopping Luke's progress, who was also saddled with bags and covered trays.

"Chewie," Leia heard Luke complain, completely hidden by the bulk of the Wookiee's body.

Chewie sniffed. "I smell soap," he said.

"Careful when you're heating all that food up," Han wagged a finger at him. "I don't want to see a crumb. _Falcon_ sparkles like a night sky."

Chewie appraised the pair. Leia still wore one of Han's shirts, but had altered it from Senator's garb to layer it over black leggings. It was hard not to miss the traces of dirt and grime trailing down Han's own shirt. "Did you use him as a mop?" he asked her, indicating Han, glad to see her standing beside him, sociable and affable.

"Can't clean him up; might as well clean with him," Leia answered with a smile.

Chewie let out a laugh and Luke pecked her on the cheek. "BX19 gave us all this food. He said it was going to spoil in the Palace since he was only feeding me." He lifted his sundry packages as evidence. "Han show you my message?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "Mon Mothma wants to talk with you," he whispered, and followed Chewie into the galley.

Mon Mothma stood at the bottom of the ramp. She did not appear to want to enter. Her eyes looked back and forth from Han to Leia, as if she couldn't decide what to make of Leia's poise and Han's dirty shirt. She seemed to be awaiting an invitation, and did not speak.

"Do you bite, Princess?" Han asked loudly.

Leia knew Han was baiting Mothma; he had done it enough with her own dealings with him in the past. His disdain for authority within the military setting of the Rebel bases was a major frustration for all who dealt with him but Leia had learned it was not borne out of insecurity; it was a foundation he'd built from past experiences.

Maybe it started with Madame, Leia reflected; the woman who ran the orphanage Han stayed at. How can you respect someone who only pretends to care about your well being? And then there was his service in the Imperial Navy. His superior officers cared nothing for other lives, treating the Wookiee slaves like some sort of product. Han also moved fluidly in the world of falsifying documentation and pretending to be someone he was not, like the Kwilaan Captain who infiltrated the Palace. Han had established a rapport based on a lie. The Imperial officer had offered a salute to him, when Han knew he hadn't earned it or even deserved it. Did he enjoy the lying, Leia wondered? Was it a game, this abuse of social conventions, or did it turn on him, eat away at his own self-respect?

Leia had thought he had more respect for Mon Mothma, but maybe he was lashing out at her for what had happened during the last Senate session. Leia was feeling vindictive enough about her own dispatch from the Senate that she played along. "No, I don't. Do you?"

"I've been known to," Han answered wryly. "But today I'm playing nice."

Mon Mothma took a step forward. "I wanted to see you, Your Highness," she told Leia.

"Would you like to come aboard?" It was an invitation, yet Leia still heard a sardonic, almost menacing tone in Han's voice.

Mothma ignored him. "Is there somewhere we can talk, Princess?" she asked.

Leia hesitated. The Falcon was a freighter; not a large ship and one whose accommodations suited cargo, not social interactions. She ruled the lounge out; it would be crowded with the others gathering in it for a meal. Leia did not want to invite Mothma to sit on the small bunk she slept on in a tiny cabin; that felt like more what girl friends did, or at least equals. Nor did she feel like sitting on the floor of a cargo bay, and she wouldn't be so rude to Mon Mothma to ask her to do that, either. She looked up at Han. "Can we sit in the cockpit?"

Han gestured with his chin. "Why don't you sit in there," he suggested, indicating the speeder Mon Mothma had arrived in.

"We could," Leia considered. He either did not want the Senator on his ship at all, or he was giving them a chance to be able to speak frankly, on neutral ground. In light of everything, that seemed to be a good idea.

Mon Mothma came swiftly to the same conclusion. "I can't stay long." She checked her chrono. "Recess is only for another forty-five minutes. Why don't you fly back to the Palace with me?"

A look of fleeting alarm glinted in Leia's eyes for just a moment. _I'll go back kicking and screaming,_ her head warned, surprising Leia with its intensity.

"I'm not saying _return_ to the Palace, Your Highness," Mothma emended shrewdly, reading Leia's expression correctly. "Just accompany me while I go back, and I'll have them return you here." Mothma indicated the sentry who was the speeder pilot.

"Alright," Leia agreed. She looked up at Han. "Save some for me of whatever Luke's brought."

"Sure." Han graced her forehead with a quick kiss. "Give him a Force signal if you need us to wrestle you outta there," he winked.

Mon Mothma noted the kiss with curiosity but said nothing as she and Leia boarded the speeder.

"I wanted to see how you were," Mon Mothma said, settling into her seat as the speeder lifted into the air. "I went to find you soon as the Senate finished the vote, but I learned Carlist had already told you and you had fled the Palace."

"I didn't exactly flee," Leia countered grudgingly. "I certainly wasn't going to stay there."

"No, it's understandable," Mothma agreed. "You've been here all this time?" she indicated the Falcon with a nod towards the window.

"Where else would I go?" Leia said.

"I don't know." Mothma's gaze took in Leia's short hair, the black leggings, and remembered the light kiss Solo had planted on her forehead. The Princess had always been elegant, dignified. She looked now only like a young woman. "I can't imagine how a freighter would be the kind of place you could get a handle on things, but you look like you have."

She was pleased to note how composed Leia seemed. When the Princess first arrived on Yavin, anyone who tried to offer condolences to her about her family, her home world, or her internment found they could not. It wasn't that the Princess lacked emotion; she simply refused to acknowledge her loss. It wasn't quite that she denied it had happened, but it was clear that it was something so painful that a wall needed to be erected in the interest of self-preservation. Leia kept refusing to face her pain, and so the wall became thicker and stronger, until the woman they interacted with became only icy resolve.

Mon Mothma had feared for Leia after the Senate vote. There was only so much a person could take before they broke, and this possibly was the last straw. And yet, here in front of her was a young woman, a princess, who looked as if she had neither denied nor refused this latest development. She looked tired and drained, but she looked like she had had a good cry, and it was the healthiest Mon Mothma ever recalled seeing her.

"It was the perfect place, actually," Leia admitted. "Now I know why Captain Solo works all the time on her. It helps him think."

"I can understand that," Mothma said with a nod. "Hard, physical work can actually be relaxing. I like to paint," she allowed. "Even just a wall. I was forever redoing the interior of my house."

Leia smiled. "He had me clean." Mothma's brows shot up. "Clean? Seems rather un-princesslike."

"Well," Leia laughed lightly, "it is, I suppose. I grew up with servants. I never did my laundry, or made my bed. I didn't cook or scrub the 'fresher. But it's not hard, not hard to learn." Her eyes moved to the city skyline, and she pursed her lips, adding after a moment's thought, "It did help me think; sort through my feelings."

"I'm sure the vote came as quite a shock. I rather couldn't believe it myself when it was proposed."

Leia's eyes flicked up, sizing up her mentor. "I was angry," she admitted. "Bitterly so. It was hard not to take it personally."

"Politics is rarely personal," Mothma told her sagely.

"And I knew that, yet it still cut through me. I couldn't understand why. Who had what to gain by it." Mothma remained silent. She didn't see any purpose in putting a face or name to the revocation. It had happened; there had been a vote; the Senate as a whole had done it.

"Now, after all that cleaning, I would say I'm not angry anymore. I'm ...," she searched for an appropriate word. "Disillusioned. Disenchanted."

Again, Mothma said nothing, allowing herself to absorb the weight of Leia's words.

"I don't want to wallow again in self pity," Leia smiled shyly, "but I kept going back to what separated me from the other Senators: Alderaan. The fact that they had a political body and I had none."

"Go on," Mothma encouraged. Leia nodded. "At the time of the disbandment, we were all equals. I left with Alderaan, and I returned without it. I didn't see, I still don't see, how that absence prevented me from shaping the New Republic. It seemed to me Alderaan's absence would be all the more reason for me to take part." Leia paused. She kept her gaze to her lap, at the fingers that absently rubbed each other. "But Captain Solo said a few things."

Mothma raised a brow. "Oh?"

"Yes." Leia couldn't help but smile a little thinking of Han and his antics while she fumed and raged and cleaned and cried. He had been serious, sympathetic, ridiculous, and adorable. "He called the Senate a 'petty bunch of opportunists.' I know he was trying to cheer me up, and certainly you can't lump the entire Senate together with one description, but I think, also, he's right in a way. I feel there a few members of the Senate, at least one - the one who proposed Alderaan's revocation - who sped back quickly to get their hands on a piece of the galaxy.

" Mothma's mouth opened to say something and Leia didn't let her. Whether she would protest, defend, agree; it made no difference. Leia didn't want to hear it. "He also said something rather inciteful, that made me furious, but as I worked and thought about it, I think he was right there, too."

Leia sighed, the hurt returning. She turned her face to the window. Coruscant was in night, and the city was ablaze with lights, almost as bright as the natural light of the sun.

"I've been gone a long time, Mon. I've done a lot of things, or maybe I haven't done much. It depends how you look at it." Leia thought of all the time on Dagobah, and her daily chore of hacking vines off the ship's support beams. "That's the main thing I learned. You can look at things at least two ways. I've learned about the Force. Mainly through Luke," she hastened to add, not wanting to go into the long, sordid tale of their shared parentage. "I've learned about the Dark side and the Light; I've seen good and evil. I know that evil is a label. A person you think is evil may think they are acting completely in order. They may think they are even doing good." Her thoughts strayed to Darth Vader, killing thousands on the orders of his master, thinking he was bringing about peace.

"Captain Solo used the term cancer," Leia said quietly, looking at her hands, "referring to Alderaan within the Senate. He said that Alderaan was a cancer, and that the Senate felt it had to be removed to keep the New Republic healthy." Leia brought her face back to Mon Mothma to see what kind of reaction she would receive.

Mothma's brows were still up. "That's putting it rather offensively, I would say," she said, sounding miffed.

"Tell me he's wrong," Leia prompted. She watched as numerous thoughts, senatorial arguments and defenses crossed Mon's face, but none passsed her lips. Leia was thankful Mon didn't utter any of them. It showed she respected Leia.

"So it's more than a petty opportunist, removing me to get a bigger piece of the galaxy," Leia confirmed.

"Leia, what kind of justice do you want for Alderaan?" Mon broke in.

Leia's mouth opened. Mon Mothma had called her 'Leia'. The two women's relationship went back to before Leia's election to the Senate. Mon had been her father's close colleague and a family friend. At times Mothma was a mentor and Leia called her Senator; other times she was a friend and Leia called her Mon, but after her father's death and years of war they referred to each other more and more as Senator and Princess; less as Mon and Leia.

She hadn't expected this question. She burned a little at it. To her, Alderaan was still and would always be an entity, something huge and alive that could not be segmented into a word, 'planet'; and it was something that one word, 'justice', would never be able to satisfy.

"What more can be done?" Mothma demanded. "I see it in your eyes. It will never be enough."

"Alderaan was murdered," Leia told Mon hotly.

"Yes, it was. You're absolutely right, Leia. But what more in the way of justice can be done? Like all murder cases, we can prosecute it. The Death Star was the weapon. It, too, was destroyed. No one on that battle station that manned it, or built it, or pushed a button to activate it, survives. They all died on the Death Star. There are loyal- former, but loyal- Imperialists who accuse the Alliance of murdering them!"

Leia's brows creased in anger but Mon plowed on. "The Emperor ordered it built. He is dead - murdered himself. The Death Star was built in the name of the Empire, and it, too, is dead."

"You're saying I'm a murderer," Leia muttered.

"No, I'm not. We're all murderers, really," Mothma's tone changed to one of philosophical expression. "It was war." She turned her face to the window. Under the soft lighting of the speeder her reflection was muted and softened against the glare of the city skyline. She looked gentler, younger, nothing like what the harsh reality of the past twenty years had done to her face.

"You have helped bring an end to the Empire. We are building a new galaxy. Fortunately, there will be no Death Star in it. But unfortunately, Alderaan is no longer in it. The New Republic has no Alderaan."

"So Han - Captain Solo- was right."

"I would think what he said was despicable to you."

"He was trying to rile me." Leia's tone told Mothma he was forgiven. "I'm sure he succeeded." Mothma looked at Leia with a slight smile, remembering again the tender kiss. "The man is - well, he's too old to be immature, but he's an emotional seesaw. Quite the opposite of what we got from you."

Leia looked up at her in surprise. "I had no idea either of us were subjects for observation," she commented dryly.

Mothma smiled. "You don't know the half of it," she teased. "When you came to us, an orphan of the galaxy, you broke our hearts, Leia. But that's why you are the face of the Rebellion. Carlist, me, Dodonna - everyone - Skywalker, Solo - all we wanted was for you to be whole again. And he, Captain Solo," Mothma broke off with a huffed laugh. "I think he disowned the galaxy! No better face of Victory,"

she smiled. "We tried to make you whole," she continued. "Fed you revenge and duty and leadership, but Solo had his own ideas. Made you fight and laugh and cry. Don't get me wrong; you were- are - always the consummate professional, very much in control. You were so guarded, Leia, so protected. We all wanted to protect you, to prevent you going through a loss again. During a war! As if that could be done." Mon shook her head. "We were fools," she said, more to herself.

Leia was quiet. In a way, it was nice to hear there had been so much concern for her, but it also rankled her sense of identity, that they all felt they knew her but had been so wrong.

Except Han. "I almost lost again. Vader shot Captain Solo. We were helpless, and he was dying, and... and I was distraught," Leia said carefully, yet hesitantly. She was admitting emotion to a woman who just told her she rarely revealed it.

But Mon was right. Leia had guarded herself from emotions. They hurt, and they weakened. Or so she thought. It was the memory that hurt, the memory of feeling that way; not the admission. The way Mon was looking at her, she was sharing the memory with Leia. And sharing gave strength, just by the fact that one person didn't have to carry it alone.

"I had no idea," Mon Mothma said.

Leia nodded, the sensations of the skiff ride as clear to her as the day they happened. "What helped me through was looking at him, while he was lying there, and thinking all the things you just said. That he made me fight, and laugh, and cry. That he made me feel alive. If he'd been one more to shelter me, there'd be no more me."

"Then we owe him a great deal," Mon said softly.

"He's right,though, isn't he?" Leia said, bringing the conversation back to the Senate and away from her. "I won't get my Seat back, will I?"

Mon's face was sad. "Alderaan is gone," she concluded softly. "Justice, as much as can be, is served. Survivors will receive restitution and resettlement packages. Thanks to you, I hope you see, and your work with the Committee for the Displaced."

"But why now?" Leia persisted. "Why? I think I'm the only one in the Senate who didn't want a piece of the galaxy for herself. And the others were threatened by me?" Her voice rose in disbelief. The noise of the speeder engine changed; it was shifting gears to approach landing on the Palace rooftop. "Even you."

"Princess!" Mothma said, shocked. "How can you think that? We have fought side by side for several years now. I know how important this victory was to you; how important your Seat was. How much you wanted to achieve."

Leia nodded. "Yes. For a time we shared a common goal. How did you vote?" she asked, her voice curiously flat.

"I find that out of line," Mon Mothma snapped. "What I just said about you goes for me as well. How hard we fought, our vision for a better-"

"This is about your legacy," Leia told her. "I don't mean you expect to get rich off this victory. I do feel, Mon, that deep down you really mean for this New Republic to take off, in the best way possible for all the beings within it. But, you have never intended to take a back seat while history unfolds. You have always seen yourself as a leader, if not The Leader, front and center.

"I don't have that pressure," Leia continued. "I can't have a legacy. I can't let history know how close I was to the takeover mission; how I participated. I can see it for what it is." Her eyes widened, hearing herself recite something else Han had said: _you gotta see it for what it is. Remember Vader?_

"Revoking my seat is a means of ending this war. You're right; I will never forgive what happened to Alderaan. I see revoking my seat is the rest of you playing soft with the defeated Imperial loyalists. I suppose it's as good as any way to end a war. I know of four beings who attacked the Emperor, so I suppose I shouldn't judge."

The speeder floated down and the engines were turned off.

Leia regarded her mentor. Mothma hadn't moved; her back was rigid in the seat and her face looked troubled. "You are worried about your legacy," Leia pointed out. "The way the coup went down, everyone will wonder until the end of time what you knew and how much you approved and what you manipulated. You've lost trust and credibility.

"You can't even ask why I cut my hair, for fear you'll know too much. But you don't have to worry," Leia assured her. "I won't be divulging anyone's secrets." _And I've got a few._ "That's why I asked how you voted."

Mothma shook her head quickly, as if an insect was buzzing around her. "I voted for you to keep your seat," she informed Leia.

"Then I owe you an apology," Leia said quietly, gratefully.

Mon's eyes shifted as the door opened and a sentry stood to help her disembark, but she made no move off her seat. "My concern is genuine, Princess. I think it's grossly unfair. As much as I don't like to admit this, I feel that you may be right, that there are some Senators who are quick to try and gain something out of this, whether it be financial or political." Mon Mothma sighed heavily. "Did your father ever tell you about the early days, when we met quietly and secretly in defiance of the Empire?"

Leia wasn't sure what answer Mon was looking for. The fall of the Old Republic was a complex issue. Historians pointed to the size of the government, both in terms of physical territory and sheer bureaucracy. Others cited the illegal treaties that benefited a small group of worlds but which fell in opposition to Republic policies. "I know my history," she hedged.

"Corruption at the end of the Old Republic was rampant," Mothma stated. "And it has continued. Unfortunately. You see it in the hierarchy the Emperor set up. From planetary governors to the Moffs, even military admirals and the like. I believe," Mothma leaned forward again, "that this sort of behavior has become our culture. And I fear that it is one change that cannot be made with laws and government. You saw it yourself; some of our Senators embrace the culture. I don't think they recognize it in themselves," Mothma was quick to add. "Just as you pointed out how subjective views of good and evil are earlier. I think they would be genuinely shocked if we said that about them. I suppose as genuinely shocked as I was, that you questioned my motives because of my legacy.

"It's complicated," Mothma concluded with a sigh. "It always is."

"What do you propose to do about it?" Leia's interest was piqued despite herself. "Start completely over with a new Senate? Run elections?"

"The one thing the Empire lacked, because there was no need, with a tyrant leader, was a system of checks and balances. An agency, a committee; something that served as a watchdog and protected the rights of the citizens from any political wrongdoing."

"Didn't the Old Republic have that?" Leia asked. "To an extent. They relied on the Jedi Order to provide security, but even that became ineffective at the start of the Clone Wars."

"Hmm," was all Leia said. The Clone Wars was another symptom of decline in the Old Republic historians pointed to. The wars had spread the resources of the Old Republic far and wide, leaving wide gaps and all of it vulnerable to take overs, piece by piece.

"I will be introducing a bill to implement such a system," Mon Mothma told her. "And I think, Princess, that is exactly the place where Alderaan has a viable role."

"As a ghost?"

"As a memory. As a reminder. An accuser. Nothing existed to stop Alderaan's destruction. No one stood up and said 'the Death Star is wrong.' It's what you can do now."

"Me? You want me to be a part of this?"

"I'd like you to consider it."

Leia saw the need for it; saw why Mothma put it before her. But she found herself unenthusiastic. Not necessarily unwilling, and not apathetic to the idea, just not sure if that's where she saw herself. Her disillusionment with the Senate took away the idea they were a whole and just body. To her now the Senate was made up of self-centered individuals, the idea of a greater good lost.

It was about balance again. Luke had told her the new leaders could neither be all Light nor all Dark, but ones who embraced both. The New Republic needed something similar. Leaders who made change, and leaders who looked over the changes to be sure they served the right purpose.

"You'll need to think about it, I know," Mothma told her.

"I can't see how any of the Senators who voted for my removal will vote positively for this," Leia said with a rueful smile. "And I still have my work with the Committee for the Displaced," she added, lost in thought.

"True, there is that. That is also supremely important."

"I'm not sure, Mon. This whole thing is so big, so much more than me. All my life my vision has been outward; my people, my planet, my galaxy. Now, at a time when perspective couldn't be broader, building a new galaxy, I find that the most important things to me are the ones that I can hold. Hold close to me."

Mon was again correct. Alderaan was a memory. There would be an emptiness there, forever. But Leia had a new home, a place where she felt understood, comfortable, safe; a place where Alderaan's memory could reside as well. Her big, broad vision of the galaxy narrowed to include just Han, Luke, Chewie and the Falcon. Nothing else mattered. Instead of expanding outwards, her worldview shifted inward. It had become her galaxy, her people, her family.

"I can't say why, or how, without endangering the security of the Galactic Alliance, but Commander Skywalker, Captain Solo, and Chewbacca are immensely important to me," Leia told Mon. "Any consideration I take for my future will include them."

Mon arched a knowing brow. "And if these are three you need to hold close to you, you shouldn't be so formal about them. Come on, Leia," she coaxed. "I'm a gossipy old woman. I saw Captain Solo kiss your forehead."

Leia blushed, which she hoped Mon wouldn't see in the darkness of the speeder, but she also let a smile flash.

"How old are you, Leia?"

"Twenty-three."

"Twenty-three," Mon repeated, nodding to herself. "As old as this conflict." She cocked her head at Leia. "I was married by that age, you know."

"It's not uncommon at that age, is it?" Leia said noncommittally, wondering how the conversation became so personal all of a sudden.

"I'm not trying to embarrass you. Or marry you off. Heavens forbid." Mothma gave a mock shudder. "Can you imagine the Senate reaction if the Liberator asked for your hand? They'd send troops to your honeymoon destination to be sure you don't start your own government." She laughed, the whole idea ridiculous, and Leia joined in with her.

"The Empire was that old, too, Leia. For twenty-three years it stripped many beings of a chance to have a normal life, for a chance at happiness. Your father raised you for this moment, the death of the Empire, but I know it would sadden him deeply if you never gave yourself a chance at happiness."

Moved, Leia returned her gaze to her hands.

Mon Mothma was lost in her own reminiscing, of being that young and having her whole life to look forward to. "I can see why Solo and Skywalker are important to you," she conceded. As much as she told Leia to ignore formality, the two men would never be 'Han' or 'Luke' to her. "You have shared many experiences together."

She sighed. She hadn't been on Yavin but she knew well enough about the battle that it wouldn't have been possible without either of the three's actions, separately, and together. "I won't tell you to be careful, or give you motherly advice. You're twenty-three. You are young, but certainly old enough to fight your own battles. Did the medic ever get in to see Captain Solo?"

Leia blinked, the abrupt change of subject taking her by surprise. "Oh, yes." She recalled Han throwing them out of the room. "He was treated."

"Good. How is he doing, bearing the brunt of the coup?"

Leia was glad to be able to offer a professional assessment. "He understands his role. He's fine with it. The notoriety, the celebrity - that bothers him a bit."

"Yes, I saw on the holos on the way over that he shoved a holo photographer. Since I saw him kiss you - and please, Leia, stop blushing. You're twenty-three, remember! - I suspect that you may have more influence over him than anyone else here. Tell him to be careful. Although," Mon waved a hand. "maybe it doesn't matter. His mixture of good deeds and bad has the press going in every direction where it concerns him, and beings will just have to make up their minds about him on their own. I thought he handled the Inquisition well."

Mention of the hearing reminded Leia her brother had also been on the speaker's docket. "How did Luke do before the Senate?" she asked.

Mothma smiled. "He did well. He gave us quite an education. Spoke like a Master, what I remember of Master Yoda when I was a young Senator."

"You mean in riddles and vague statements?" Leia joked.

"A bit of that, yes," Mon laughed. "He sought to reintroduce us to the Force, to calm us. He talked, as you did, of balance, Light and Dark. It was interesting. He's a long way from putting anything concrete on a flimsi in regards to establishing an academy, but I have no doubt he'll receive funding once he does."

Mon Mothma stood. "You'll take the Princess back to the docking bay," she instructed the sentry.

"Yes, Senator," the sentry saluted. She clasped Leia's hands to her own. "You're right, you know. I can't even ask about your hair. I do know, from our association, that you would never do something that drastic on a whim. So I will content myself with granting you maturity." She smiled, then whispered, "but how I would love to know the story behind it!"

Mon Mothma straightened, letting go of Leia's hands. "I'm so proud of you, Your Highness," she said formally. "Of this moment, of having the honor of riding with you in a speeder. Life has given you times of terrific hardship, but Life has rewarded you with great wisdom. More than most of us can hope for at the end of a long life. I do hope I will have the pleasure of continuing to work with you."

With that, she turned and disembarked. Leia heard the pilot re-enter the speeder and the engines began to hum once more. The lights of the Palace fell away. She sought her reflection in the window as she ruminated over the discussion. A word popped into her head. _Possibility_.

The word and all its meanings, all its potential, had left her the moment she was taken prisoner on board the Death Star. There is nothing to think about when one's execution is imminent. There are no plans to make, no ideas on which to speculate. Even before one arrives in front of the firing squad, something is killed within one. Possibility.

Instead of being executed, she instead had assisted in obliterating the possibilities of all the lives aboard the Death Star, but she had never been sorry. And her heart beat, and she worked and she planned, but possibility never returned. Luke cared and Han pushed but the only possibility she confronted was when she would die and how.

It was back now, like the rare and tiny migrating moth she would stay up late on summer nights for, just to be able to catch a glimpse of it. Elusive and thrilling, and once one was lucky enough to spot it, one embraced the sight to one's very soul. Possibility had returned to Leia Organa. Death was no longer imminent;she could build a family with a brother and a lover. She could be a Committee member, working for the displaced; she could be a citizen's advocate, pointing her finger at the government like a Fury, or - there it was: Citizen's Square, the tiny monitor. Leia grinned as she saw her still photo. Princess Leia for President.

 _Hell_ , she thought. _Anything's possible._


	53. Chapter 53

This was the After-Jabba.

A dream of the Punisheds, the slaves at Jabba's palace knew better. Yet here she was.

Maranya surveyed the _Falcon's_ lounge, her eyes taking in the gaming table, the curved upholstered bench, the threshold leading to the galley. The conversation of the men drifted to her ears like background music.

 _"Don't you have any concern for a proper recovery?"_ Doc Brack's voice sounded exasperated. It was not a familiar tone from him. He was usually quite methodical with his patients, asking questions with the purpose of obtaining information, almost detached. _"Look at your shirt."_

The lounge was clean. Someone had straightened up, scoured.

_"I just got you cleaned up."_

Maranya's fingers touched the gaming surface. She changed her gaze and saw Solo, bringer of After-Jabba, check his chrono. Luke and Chewie squirmed past her, burdened with food trays, and disappeared into the galley.

 _"That was hours ago,"_ Solo dismissed the medic. _"You expect me to stay still?"_

This was where Maranya had begun the After-Jabba, among the clutter of cramped quarters, beings catching up on personal concerns and relationships.

_"I expect you to stay clean. I would tell another patient to rest, but seeing as it's you..."_

_"Very funny."_

It looked different now, too organized, under-utilized. Chewie rumbled something.

 _"What did he say?"_ Doc Brack blocked the threshold.

_"He said for Han to change his shirt. That he just cleaned the ship, and he should respect her and be clean himself."_

Why was it less welcoming? Maranya never expected to attain the After-Jabba in the first place, but it never occurred to her that it could evolve. During the sand storm she had remained sheltered in the lounge. Then Solo had taken off, lifted everyone off and away from the sand. Her After-Jabba expanded to encompass the stars, and it was overwhelming.

 _"I agree, Han."_ Maranya tilted her head when Luke spoke. She liked the sound of his voice. It was always so soft, so understanding. _"Change your shirt."_

 _"Force me."_ There was a dare in Solo's voice.

Luke chuckled. _"I could, you know. Maybe not you, but I could float a shirt over from your cabin, slip it over your head."_

Solo laughed as he turned to head back to his cabin. _"Hells, I can do that myself."_

Solo used to talk to her, at the Palace, but in the After-Jabba he had less to say to her.

 _"Let me see, then,"_ Luke provoked.

Solo's voice grew distant as he moved away, different than Luke's. There was always an underlying challenge, whether to play along or to fight. _"Use your powers for good."_

"Stay here," Doc Brack directed her. "I won't need you. I'm just going to check the bandaging on his back." He followed Solo back to his cabin.

The After-Jabba was often talked about at the palace. By the Punisheds usually. The only After-Jabba slaves would earn was death. It could be for the Punisheds too, and it often was. She had known two in her six years, before Solo came, only two Punisheds, who were allowed to leave the palace. And those two kept the concept of After-Jabba alive for the rest.

Solo had dreamed of After-Jabba. And he had attained it. He was the third to leave, and he had made it so no one need dream of an After-Jabba again. He had shared his with her. They were two of the lucky ones. What was After-Jabba like for Jabba?

_I won't need you._

A slave never thought about After-Jabba. Slaves stayed until they died. And they didn't wish for death. Death was put off as long as possible, for death was the rancor. Or it was abuse at the hands of a guest. Both drawn out and painful.

Yes, one of the lucky ones. Did Solo know what to make of it? His transition back with his friends seemed seamless.

After-Jabba for Maranya was confusing. It was talk; a lot of discussion. And work. Routines.

Interaction, her counselor had termed it.

Was the interplay of Punished and guests at Jabba's interaction? Even a guest's life hung in the balance, always prey to Jabba's twisted, watchful, drugged eyes and mood. Interaction meant taking whatever Jabba offered. Food, drugs, slaves, death. Even the guests struggled to survive.

Her counselor said interaction was an exchange, a sharing.

No, there was nothing of the kind at Jabba's. Maranya's counselor had informed her for anyone to arrive at Jabba's in the first place, there was already something wrong with them on the inside. It was her father that should have been at Jabba's, she was told. He was so perfect for it that he sent his daughter in his stead. The twisted logic made sense to Maranya. Her counselor tried to help her understand that life at Jabba's was harmful and depraved. And yet it was Maranya who arrived there and not her father. So something was wrong with her, too. Whatever it was in her father that had led him to sell her to protect his own interests she had somehow inherited.

And she had been successful there, if one were to measure success at Jabba's. She had survived six years, and if it hadn't been for Solo she was sure she'd have been able to put off the After-Jabba indefinitely. She knew Jabba's. She knew how to live there.

Solo had worked for Jabba. So something was wrong with him, too. And he'd been successful, for a while, working for Jabba, staying as a guest. Not quite as good as she, but he made a good run. He had been a successful Punished as well.

She watched as he returned, his shirt clean and white, interacting effortlessly. Luke and Chewie joked with him, smiled, or were serious with him. Was his After-Jabba to never arrive at somewhere like Jabba's again? To no longer have something wrong with him on the inside? How did he do that?

Four men and a beast. A nice, gentle beast. The men…..one was kind. One wouldn't look at her, one didn't seem to notice her, and the other...he toted her around because he knew. Knew he couldn't leave her by herself, knew he couldn't leave her with herself, knew he couldn't leave her. _I won't need you…._

These were different than the others, ones whose bodies lay heavily over hers, ones whose fists and claws raked and broke. Those had never been kind. Had one ever been? She had heard of it, from the other slaves, but she couldn't remember one being kind with her. Perhaps it had never really happened with the other slaves. Perhaps it had been an unattainable dream, like the After-Jabba.

Chewie stepped in front of her and handed her a stack of plates, rumbling something. She stretched her head back to look into his eyes, then took the stack wordlessly from him, understanding what he wanted her to do.

 _"Chewie,"_ she was aware of Luke speaking, _"can you not pronounce her name, or do you like nicknames?"_ Of course he had a nickname. He was Chewie. She didn't need to know what he called her, because whatever name he had come up with no doubt was a perfect estimation of her character. He'd lived so long. He knew things. He seemed to care, to look deep into her eyes and see her flawed soul but care anyway. He cared because of him though, his partner, the one who wouldn't look at her.

 _"I was just wondering,"_ Luke seemed satisfied by the Wookiee's explanation.

Luke was the kind one; the one who knew the sand. He strove to interact with her, as if her counselor had pulled him aside and asked for his help. He didn't know her though; not really. His memory of her was prompted when he saw her. What would happen when he didn't see her anymore? Would he remember her?

Maranya finished the plates and went back to bring glasses to the table. She was conscious of having to squeeze in front of the General, who lifted his arms and mumbled an apology.

To General Rieekan she was just one of his men. A number, a statistic. He cared about his men, but as a whole. He could not spare the time to care individually. He was not unkind. Just busy. And preoccupied.

Solo and Doc Brack were discussing varying pain thresholds in different species as they returned. _"It's my firm belief,_ " Doc Brack was saying, _"human history would be vastly different if they had a higher pain threshold."_

Solo's back must be fine.

" _They'd be more violent?"_ Solo wondered. _"Wouldn't accomplish as much."_

 _Look at me,_ her mind hissed to Solo. He sat at the table, interacting like he knew how to do it. Except with her. He wouldn't look at her. He had saved her life night after night but it hadn't been out of kindness. After-Jabba was hard work for him, too, yet he had friends. Leia, who he let touch him; Luke who angered him with his intuition and empathy.

_"General, do you mind? We'll eat in the lounge, so let's bring what we're having tonight out there."_

_"Not at all, Skywalker,"_ General Rieekan's voice was husky with age. _"Glad to help. It smells good."_

They all took a seat and she waited until Doc Brack had settled in his. Then she slid in next to him. _I won't need you,_ he had said.

Silence fell as they all proceeded to dish out food, and for a time there was only the noise of serving utensils clattering on plates, and glassware clinking on the table as it was returned to its place after someone drank.

 _"Solo, where is the Princess? Is she with Senator Mothma?"_ General Rieekan asked.

Leia was like her, female. If they were all transported somehow, magically, back to Jabba's, the four men and beast would be at table; guests; and she and Leia would be slaves. Maranya did not remember a female guest.

 _"Yeah,"_ Solo confirmed. _"The Senator took the speeder back to the Palace and Leia's riding with her."_

 _"Oh."_   Maranya noticed General Rieekan looked a little put out. She returned to her plate. _"Then I might need a ride back to the Palace."_

Would they be friends? Would they look out for each other? The one had, the Twi-lek, the one whose features in her memory were dimming, her days now filled with uniforms and co-workers and patients.

_"No, she's having it return. Leia didn't want to return to the Palace. I think she's done with it."_

Luke stopped his goblet before it reached his mouth. It hung there, in mid-air. _"You think so?"_ he asked with interest. _"I can't see her totally giving up."_

 _"For now."_ Maranya closed her eyes to hear Solo's voice, the part of him she knew best because it was all the darkness revealed in their shared cell. Behind her closed lids she heard the layers of experience, smoke, friendliness and menace. Yes, he would be the one to bring her the After-Jabba.

 _"I don't blame her,"_ the General spoke quietly.

Chewie spoke at length, and Han translated for him. _"He says he's surprised she was even willing to talk to Senator Mothma. He says he'd have wanted to tear her apart."_

Solo took a drink. _"She might still,"_ he added, grinning. _"Verbally. I think she was feeling the Senator out, trying to get a handle on the mood of the Senate and who her detractors are."_

Chewie nodded his head decisively and with her eyes still closed Maranya shook her head slightly, unable to separate sounds.

 _"Chewie says that's even better,"_ Han told them. _"Then she can tear them apart. He says that sounds like the Princess." "_

 _That is not the Princess I know at all!"_ Doc Brack looked askance at the observation.

Both Solo and Luke were laughing. _"Maybe a Wookiee Princess,"_ Luke joked.

If Leia had come with Solo, Jabba would no doubt make her a sex slave. Everyone seemed to find something beautiful about her. Maranya did. Solo did. Leia's hair, before she cut it; her eyes, her kindness. Would she, Maranya, take up the role of sister, orientate Leia to the routine, quiet her tears, soften the bruising?

Leia had been the one to orientate her when Maranya was brought aboard the Falcon. Shared clothing, food, tried to comb her hair but then had to give up and cut it.

Leia moved in the circle of men. They looked her in the eye, they talked with her, not to her, they needed her. _I won't need you..._ And they wanted her. Solo wanted her.

 _Look at me_. No one had ever wanted her. Not her father, not any guests. They'd wanted only the physical release of sex.

Leia had told her of the different ways humans could love. Brotherly, paternally, romantically. Maranya knew none of them. To her, sex was an instinct; quick, fierce, solitary, and masculine. The showing of seed, that was all. There was no consideration of the female. They were nothing, meaningless.

Was she meaningless to Solo? He'd saved her, and he hadn't wanted to. So why had he? And now he resented her.

She knew the answer: because there'd be another. Again, symptom of her nothingness, how she didn't matter. It wasn't her he was saving; it was all the others that would follow, night after night, if Solo kept refusing his punishment. The rancor would grow fat and happy and its growls and their screams would echo around the palace like the everyday jangle of shackles.

That had been his punishment, how many lives did he want on his soul. Jabba always planned his torments knowing the Punisheds thought in terms of the After-Jabba. As if they would survive. If they did, the torment continued.

Solo had survived and now her life was on his soul. Why wasn't he proud of that? Why wasn't he happy they'd gotten away?

 _"You're not eating this stuff either?"_ Maranya was startled to see Luke was asking her a question. He gestured at a dish on the table, indicating the vegetable casserole. It was thick and fibrous, in various shades of green and dotted with orange.

This was all so hard to navigate. Luke was talking to her, instigating conversation. What did they want? Just to talk? What did it mean? Was it supposed to be something else? She shook her head. "I like the yellow foods."

Luke laughed. "We Tatooinians. Stick to what we know."

"It's delicious," Doc Brack enthused, and Rieekan nodded, helping himself to a portion. "Yes, it is. Stewed chanaka leaves."

Even food tortured her. There was so much of it. All different kinds, tastes, textures. After-Jabba provided so much to eat, but it was hard to break the habit of devouring everything you found right away, leaving nothing for the others.

"That's one thing I can say about serving in the Rebellion," Luke told her, looking her in the eye while spooning out a second helping of a meat and noodle dish. She wondered, if in his intuition, he sensed how she fought the urge to snatch the bread off his plate. "It introduced me to a whole bunch of new foods. That, and all the travel."

"You're a real recruitment poster," Solo commented dryly.

They told her After-Jabba was simple. Work, and training, eating and sleeping. Maranya followed Doc Brack through the day. He moved like the wind over the sand, breezing from one room to the other, one patient to the next. They were human and Twi-lek, Sullust and Calamari; many types, many lives, just like at Jabba's. He didn't seem to ever want more, ever need more in the interactions of his job. Just talked, and treated, and was done. And the patients were grateful. There was another term for it; her counselor had defined it for her, but right now it eluded her.

_Look at me._

Respect. That was it. They looked him in the eye and they respected.

Had she won respect as a sex slave? She'd only managed to survive. Everyone in the After-Jabba was awed, or horrified, at the length of time she served, but she didn't think that was the same as respect. Had her survival earned her respect from the other slaves at the palace? Perhaps. But it was at the Palace, and being so good at surviving only meant that something was even more wrong with her on the inside than it was for others, and that was not worthy of respect.

Doc Brack was standing. Leia was back. Luke and Han stood too, both looking sheepish. Chewie remained in his seat but yowled a greeting. Maranya didn't get up, didn't rise for Leia. Was this another show of respect? Even the General stood. What was it about Leia that men stood for her? She let herself recede into the background, but remained ever-observant.

Chewie sniffed. "I don't even smell adrenalin," he remarked. "You did not even argue?"

Leia's grin lacked Chewie's humor. "No. We just talked." Her eyes perused the food on the table. It looked like a small banquet. She didn't feel quite hungry yet. "It's likely I won't get my Seat back."

"Oh." Luke rubbed her upper arm. "I'm sorry," he said uselessly. He peered intently at her, assessing and appraising. _Leia?_ he asked through the Force.

"I'm out of a job," she told the group ruefully. "For the first time in my life."

"You were born with a job," Han pointed out. "Princess."

"You do still have that," Luke tried to soothe.

Leia shrugged. "In a way. I have the title. It's meaningless without the world. I'm about as royal as you or Han are right now."

"There are Alderaani offworlders," Rieekan said. "They need you."

"Do they, though?" Leia probed. "They're scattered. They're in new places. Do you think retaining traditions would just continue the pain? Don't you think we all need to heal?"

Chewie grabbed a plate and began to dole out portions from each serving dish on the table.

"I'm not sure it's smart to bring back the old ways, when there isn't even a way anymore," Leia continued.

"Well," Luke began. He looked at Han and Rieekan, inviting them to speak up, but they seemed content to let Luke be Leia's foil. "What about history? Beings like me that never saw Alderaan should learn about the culture and traditions."

Leia nodded. "History is one thing; I'd love to teach you an Alderaanian waltz. But Alderaan was a monarchy. I'd be a fool to not be sensitive to the fact that a self-declared Emperor was just deposed."

"At the same time, Princess," Rieekan gently spoke up. "Alderaan is a model. It was a peaceful planet, with a government that lasted for centuries. There were ways to ensure the monarch didn't become all-powerful."

"Yes, but Carlist, look at the Old Republic," Leia argued. "The ways of ensuring a Senator didn't take complete control failed. And look at Corellia." Her eyes moved to Han. "Corellia has a long history of kings; some good, some very bad."

Han was caught chewing bread. It was too big to swallow to give a timely answer so he just nodded instead.

Leia took the plate Chewie offered her and Luke burst out laughing. The plate was piled high with way too much food, more than anyone had seen Leia eat during a meal. Her look back at him was amused. "Here," she scraped some of her plate onto his.

Han finally swallowed. "You could write a book," he suggested. He only half-meant it. He could see Leia as a published author. Not now, but someday. Someday when she was older, and the dust was settled. He was a smuggler, and odd things had a lot of value on the black market. Instinctively he knew Leia's memories would fetch high dollar in the general market.

Now Leia laughed outright. "Sure," she responded sarcastically. "And which lie should I present for history?"

"Not that," Han grumbled. "About Alderaan."

Luke pushed the stewed chanaka leaves back on Leia's plate. "You eat this," he murmured.

"Your life on Alderaan," Han continued. "An...what is it?" he whirled his fork in the air, seeming to search for a word, "autobiography. That's it. Your life until you left Alderaan."

"I never left Alderaan," Leia said softly, stirring the casserole listlessly.

"I'd read that," Luke said. Rieekan nodded. "Put the traditions down in print and they are part of history," he agreed.

Doc Brack turned to Maranya and shared a collaborative look. "We could tell about our own traditions," he said, more to her than anyone else at the table.

"They were Jabba's," she pointed out quietly.

"True," Doc Brack said musingly.

"And they were wrong," she said. She looked at them all, shy and alarmed, parroting her counselor, testing the viewpoint. She was not used to venturing opinions aloud or speaking so much.

Leia leaned forward, lending affirmation to Maranya. "That's why they are important, too," she told her. Maranya was impressed with Leia's earnestness. "History records things for different reasons. Sometimes to inform; sometimes to warn. Some things should disappear from the galaxy. Life at Jabba's is one thing. And your experiences help ensure we don't see anything like it again."

"Too bad," Chewie said. "There are other Hutts."

"Does 3PO have that kind of information?" Han wondered aloud. "Traditions and culture?"

"He should," Rieekan put in. "Protocol droid."

"And so much more," Chewie declared morosely. His comment made Han, Luke and Leia break out in laughter.

Han shook his head at the others. "Nothing," he told them. "Inside joke."

"I wager I could guess what about," Rieekan said, smiling. "Since Princess Leia left Sullust I saddled myself with him as part of my staff."

Luke nodded understandingly. "Saddled," he repeated. "Good term." He spread an indulgent smile around the table. "I say that, and he's mine."

"I learned to budget an extra ten minutes of my time in meetings with him," Rieekan told them slyly and they all laughed again.

"So I can have him write a book," Leia said.

"Then it'd be boring," Han declared. "I wouldn't read it."

"Did you have him write your statement to the Inquisition, Carlist?" Leia asked. "I remember thinking that as you were reading it."

Rieekan smiled. "As a matter of fact, he did." They laughed gently and quietly as a group, conversation dying. Mention of the Inquisition led everyone's thoughts separately yet together to the sequence of events that had changed so much for those at the table.

Leia was aware it was her fault. The serving dishes were half empty, gouges of food scooped out and caking on ladles. Plates were pushed back or a napkin folded over them. The table looked satisfied, almost as if it were a direct reflection on how much the diners had enjoyed the meal together, and she had brought talk to a halt. Luke was absently brushing crumbs onto the floor.

"Hey," Han complained. "Careful." He stood, grabbing a dish. "I'll clean up."

"Mothma said you did well today, Luke," Leia said hurriedly, not wishing to be left alone at the table.

 _"Yeah, I thought it went..."_ Maranya collected plates and followed Solo into the galley.

_"She said once you have..."_

"Here," she offered the dirty plates to Solo, who was banging the serving utensils with a single forceful rap on the counter. Food fell off and into the disposal unit.

In a flash, his eyes darted to her and then left. In them she saw wariness and suspicion. She preferred to hear his voice. It told her more. "Thanks," was all he said.

_"So much to think of..."_

"Is it hard for you?" Maranya ventured. She didn't know why she was scared of him now, after all this, but she was. She was aware of intense apprehension. Was it respect? Is this what it felt like?

"Is what hard?" Solo focused on the dishes, barely paying her attention.

"Your After-Jabba." "My what?" "Your After-Jabba," Maranya repeated, forging on. She had started this and there was no going back. "What we all called it when you leave out of Jabba's palace."

"Never heard of it," he said, his lips pressed, as if denying any knowledge of the After-Jabba got him out of thinking about it.

She pressed her hand on his forearm. "Tell me," she said. "Tell me if it's hard. Because I get up each morning, and sometimes I feel like I can't do it, can't even get dressed and go to work."

He shook her hand away. "Why should it be hard for me," Han said grimly. "I got everything I wanted."

" _I didn't realize. Just the testing overwhelms me. It might be years! Housing, uniforms, teachers, council...how am I going to do it?"_

They stood silently in the tiny galley together. "You won't look at me," she accused him, her voice like a petulant child.

"I don't want to look at you," came his immediate response, cutting and harsh.

"Have you sexed yet?" she asked him, gesturing to the lounge where Leia's voice mixed with Luke's.

He moved so fast that bits of the food left the spoon he held in front of her landed on her cheek. She felt them land, cold and small and solid, and his eyes blazing at her took her breath away. "Don't you ever," he snarled in a hiss so his voice wouldn't carry,

_"...do you think...some assistance?"_

_"ever_ , say anything like that to me again."

They stood frozen, the spoon in between their faces. She fought to not feel afraid and Solo fought for composure.

 _"not like I have anything better to do..._ "

Finally Maranya spoke, her voice trembling. "I have kept my promise to you. I haven't. I won't. I am part of your After-Jabba though."

Laughter filtered in from the lounge. "If you are then I need to get rid of you."

Maranya nodded. She understood him better now, saw why he could not be kind to her, why he couldn't look at her. "It is always with me. Not the After-Jabba. Why do I know it better than anything? Why can't I stop being wrong?"

Solo washed his hands. He seemed to soften a little. His eyes left had left her and they tried to meet hers again but failed, landing on the side of her neck. "It's not you who's wrong. I mean, it is, but at the same time it isn't. It's not your fault. Jabba being dead doesn't finish it, does it. You just have to hang in there, I guess," he said lamely.

 _"Maranya,"_ Doc Brack's patient voice called.

"Jabba attracted the twisted," she told Solo, parroting her counselor again but aiming to hurt. "And you were there." She left him to the dishes and returned to the lounge.

"Well," Rieekan cleared his throat. "This has been a most pleasant evening." He stood up. "But I think I better get back. I'm sure the holos are already reporting that I'm in meeting with the Liberator, so I'm going to catch hell in the morning. Care to share the speeder with me?" Rieekan turned graciously to Doc Brack and Maranya.

"We'll take you up on that," Doc Brack accepted. Maranya studied as his eyes met each human and Wookiee at the table. "Thank you all. Watch your back, Solo," he called to Han, noting he had returned from the galley and was leaning in the threshold. He smiled. "I say that as your physician, but maybe I should add that in a different context, as your friend. The holos were all over you today, just for shoving a photographer."

"Oh, that," Han waved it away with his hand. "Next time I'll break his camera. Maybe his nose."

Leia shook her head in bemusement and followed Carlist to the ramp.

"Goodnight, Princess," General Rieekan told her. "Don't be a stranger."

She nodded thoughtfully at him but made no answer. She palmed the hatchway closed and turned for the lounge again before the ramp had completely closed.

"Do you have a hat?" she asked Han. "No, wait. Let me rephrase that. I know you have a hat. May I use one of your hats?"

Han's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why?"

"I feel like going for a walk. Want to come?"

His bottom lip pursed in thought for a moment. "Sure," he said slowly.

"You'll need a hat," Leia told him. "Disguise. Want to come, Luke?"

Luke did. He wanted to talk more with his sister about her and about him. It seemed their roles were flip-flopping. He was the rising star in the New Republic where she had become a non-entity. He needed assurance that any bitterness she felt did not trickle down into the new role he embraced. He also sensed an ex-Senator and Liberator going out in public made them too vulnerable, but he was also not too stupid to realize that three was a crowd. "No, thanks," he told her. "I'll help Chewie clean up."

 


	54. Chapter 54

Leia _tsked_ in front of the storage locker. She was on her knees, rifling through the haphazard place Han tossed cold-weather gear. It was a jumbled mess of blankets, hats and coats.

There was no system of organization. It appeared Han had tossed the textiles in there and quickly slammed the door on them before they tumbled out.

The lack of order was a bit disconcerting. Leia did not have many possessions, but as a girl she grew up in the royal palace that had contained many, many items. The servant's wing alone contained a storage area; a large series of rooms, really, and she had loved to explore in there. There were crates of vessels and statuary, chairs stacked up on another, holiday decorations and boxes and boxes of rugs, valances, curtains, bed linens. To Leia the items in the closed-off, darkened, little-used rooms held a certain promise, a definite mystery, and they ignited her imagination. She would peek under lids to see what treasure lay beneath, crawl in between table legs to hide from fictional monsters, dance with a stone cherub.

Many of these items would emerge from their hiding place, and others like them in households all over the planet, on Linens Day, an annual celebration dating since ancient times. The servants would line up in a row, armed with brooms, and sweep the Bad out an open doorway while the mistress of the house stood at an open window, her arms beckoning the Good inside. To symbolize the fresh start, all the textiles would be changed. Household members even sported a new outfit. Leia recalled that her mother, Queen Breha, ordered new uniforms for the staff.

It was like magic, the effect of covering the floors and windows and beds with bright florals, delicate lace. The rooms looked bigger, brighter. They even smelled better. A house was given a makeover and it was as if the household inhabitants were washed clean as well; their lives afforded new opportunities.

The modern era had added its own bit of cynicism. Trade markets bustled this time of year with new fabric prints. Instead of the traditional family possessions, the purchase of a completely new set of textiles was a means of showing economic importance.

The Organa household had a long history, and Leia's mother kept to the traditional textiles that had been passed on for generations. Once a year they were brought out, and it was like greeting an old friend.

Leia _tsked_ again. She understood Han's purchases were to satisfy a need and not a desire, but did he have to show such little imagination? His spacer's clothing was almost a uniform, so did he gravitate to the same colors and fit, but there were quite a few hats. Some bore the name of a manufacturer. Probably came complimentary with his numerous ship upgrades.

"Princess, time to go," she heard Han holler from somewhere else in the ship. She cocked her ear at the sound of Han's voice. _Time._ She paused, wondering where the layer of sound, almost an echo, came from. She dismissed it with a shake of her head. There was no telling why the ship made the noises it did.

She returned her attention to the locker and rifled through the contents, selecting a hat. She held it up for inspection. It was made of a woven material, a type of straw. The top was open; it looked torn but perhaps it was caused by insect damage. It offered a wide brim. She settled it atop her head and it fell to below her ears. She took it off, examining it perplexedly. _It's Chewie's,_ she realized. _I wonder when he would need a hat?_ In the snow on Hoth and in the sand on Tatooine, she'd never known him to cover his head.

She liked the idea of a wide-brimmed hat. It would throw her face in shade, making it harder to recognize her. Ah, here was one she liked. It was a smaller version of the one she took to be Chewie's, but the top was closed and it bore no marks of damage. She darted into the 'fresher to check the fit in the reflector.

Han's voice, more insistent this time, came again. "Princess!"

Her reflection stared back at her, frank and daring. If she hadn't known she was staring at herself in a mirror, she might not have recognized herself. Was it the hat? Her short hair? Or that she was completely open-ended, her sense of identity in flux? Leia stopped herself from thinking more. _This hat will do nicely._

Leaving the 'fresher's mirror, it occurred to her she might as well select a hat for Han before she closed the locker. She sifted through the collection again. _Oh well_. He'd have to roam the pedestrian corridors of Coruscant extolling the Kuat Driveyard. It was merely a cap, but had a visor that extended past the brow, shielding the face from the sun. And passersby.

She went to rejoin Luke and Han in the lounge, catching the tail end of their conversation about the media. "I'm ready," she stated.

"Don't you want a wrap?" Luke asked. "My poncho's probably lying around here somewhere" he offered, referring to the desert wrap he had left Tatooine in, discarded later for a storm trooper's disguise on the Death Star.

"Nah, I burned that," Han joked. "I got something for you." He moved past Leia and she held the cap out. He took it in passing, donning it as he continued his way back to his cabin.

Leia's mouth dropped open slightly. She and Han were having their own Linens Day. She only glimpsed his face for a moment, but the hat was transforming. It shaded Han's eyes, hiding the cynicism, and highlighted the angle of his jaw and curve of his mouth, making him seem younger, innocent.

He came back wearing the dark blue jacket she often saw him in on Hoth, and held the shoulders of a black jacket open for her, inviting her to slip it on. It had a cropped waist, so the length wouldn't be as ridiculous on her, and the cuffs lent themselves well to being rolled back. She patted the pockets, feeling a weight. "What's in here?" she said, pulling out a fuse from one and a blaster recharge pack from another.

"Gimme those." Han held open his palm, wiggling his fingers. "Anything else in there?"

Luke shook his head. "You're like a womp rat. Stashing things. Where are you going to go?"

"The Gaslight District is always fun to walk around," Leia suggested, looking at Han and gauging his reaction.

He shrugged. "Not taking you the places I know."

"Chewie's scaring off the holo reporters," Luke told Leia. "You better go before they get wise."

"Don't wait up for us, Junior," Han said in farewell.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't," Luke countered. "Pleasant thoughts, sis."

Leia caught his eye as she left, sensing he was wishing for her as much as for himself.

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Leia misjudged the cab opening and the brim of her hat bumped against the side of the door. She adjusted it while Han clambered in beside her, programming their destination on a small keyboard that was relayed to the pilot.

"This hat doesn't exactly strike me as your style," she commented, hand on the brim.

He looked her over. "Forgot I had that one."

"And there's another one - same kind - only I think it's Chewie's? It's over-sized."

"Yeah," Han recalled. "There'd be two."

"Why?" she teased. "Dressing like father and son?"

"It was prisoner issue." "Prisoner issue?" Leia sobered. "You got caught?" She knew Han had dumped a load of contraband when the Empire boarded the Falcon and that's how he came to owe Jabba so much money, but she wasn't aware of any arrests. She frowned. It didn't make sense. If Han were caught with smuggled cargo, like Spice, the sentence was heavy on most worlds. And what she knew of Imperial prisons did not include straw hats.

Han shook his head, a tiny play of amusement on his lips. "It's not like that," he told her. "We were arrested for brawling. We were in some cantina, and someone got pissed about someone else cheating at Sabacc, and a fight broke out. They ran all us patrons in. Couldn't sort out who wasn't fighting, but that's 'cause everyone was."

This made more sense. "Were you the one cheating?"

"Actually, no," he said, as if he still couldn't believe his misfortune. "I'd just folded my hand; went to get a drink. Next thing, everyone's swinging at each other. It was crazy. The barkeep called security and left, and they in threw a canister of stun gas."

"And where do the hats come in?" "They put us on trash detail," Han recounted with a chuckle. "Seems funny now." He looked out the window, his memory sparked. "It was on Astryja III; very hot. Not like Tatooine, but hot enough. They issue the hats to keep the sun off you. They don't take 'em back, in case of parasites. Our sentence was two days. I remember Chewie ripped the top of his off. He didn't like it." He added wistfully, "I lost a job, because of that. Didn't make the pickup." He waved a hand. "It was a long time ago."

_Time._

Leia jerked her head up. She eyed Han suspiciously, but he didn't appear to have said anything. He was still looking out the window, lost in his reverie. The speeder cab landed at a holding area, and the door swung upwards. Whatever Leia thought she heard melded with the sounds of the Gaslight District. A variety of languages, clicks, stomps, vehicles, even droids, caused her to doubt herself. She stepped out of the cab.

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"I knew you'd want to follow them," Luke said as he hailed a speeder cab from the public entrance of the docking bay.

Chewie was unapologetic. "It is not I that wants to follow. The Life Debt requires it."

"Has Han ever had a moment of privacy?" Luke asked, halfway serious.

He hadn't considered this aspect of the Life Debt before. The other pilots on the rebel bases were all impressed by the Corellian who had won a Life Debt. It had definitely upped Han's coolness factor. The Life Debt broadcast a certain attitude. Han was every inch an outcast, and the Wookiee at his side seemed to announce he was the reason. It told of bravery and danger, before anyone even learned his name.

Now Luke saw Han was at a disadvantage. Chewie had sacrificed his own freedom when he dedicated his life to Han, but Luke realized that Han also had lost some of his own. He was burdened with the responsibility and consideration of another life, forever. The shadow Han cast would always be that of a Wookiee.

"He is a grown human," Chewie said with a shrug. "He makes his own decisions. Often the wrong ones, but they are his."

"He's just walking with Leia tonight," Luke said. "Do you expect trouble?"

"Do you?" Chewie asked. Luke took a moment to access the Force. "No. Nothing that points to Han or Leia anyway."

His ability to use the Force had grown immensely. Trouble would always be in the air; that was the Dark Side. If he wanted he could find someone about to rob another, just as easily as he could find one offering a free meal to the hungry. He understood Yoda much better now, how there was too much to feel, to do; how it could leave you in a state of impotent lethargy.

Chewie relaxed as much as his large frame would allow in the cab. "Good. Maybe we'll enjoy a nice walk ourselves."

"Maybe," Luke answered. He would let the Force remain in the background, perhaps access it to locate Han and Leia if needed. The Force would be in the Gaslight District same as everyone else; a spectator, a player. "Events will unfold for themselves."

Chewie sent him a sharp glance. "That sounds like something Yoda would say."

Luke grinned. "It does, doesn't it?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Gaslight District was a sprawling consumer paradise. Small theaters, restaurants, bars, boutiques and gift shops all fronted the pedestrian corridor, all lit up with colorful signs that were fueled by a special gas.

Leia had not been here in a while, since before Palpatine had disbanded the Senate. "It almost looks the same," she remarked to Han as he paid the pilot. "But something is different. I can't quite put my finger on it."

"It's dingier," Han said. "Look up. It's not the highest level anymore."

He was right. The passage of time had not been as kind to the Gaslight District. These particular businesses had not moved up with the city's growth; they had not stayed fresh and fashionable. Time had passed and the proprietors elected to stay, counting on the loyalty and faith of their customers, not realizing they were as fickle and fleeting as their city.

 _Time,_ Leia heard in her head again. A business-being had a choice: stay, or move. Sometimes, like Han in the brawling cantina, one got swept away in the tide of events. Other times one could weigh the options, affect the outcome.

Like Yoda. Leia wondered if it was his echo she was hearing. Was he here with her, now? Did he want her to know something?

"Any particular place you wanted to see?" Han broke into her thoughts.

"No." She shook her head. "Not really. I just wanted to come and be a part of all this."

Han held his arm out, motioning her forward. "I'm with you. Which way?"

They joined the stream of beings and got swallowed up in the crowd.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I see them."

"I smelled them long before."

Luke scowled. "I'm not a Wookiee," he reminded his friend.

"But you are a Jedi."

"Jedi don't smell things out."

"Smell is a sense. So is the Force."

"Fine," Luke surrendered. "You spotted them first."

"Are you not using your Force sense?"

"I am, and I'm not," Luke answered, not tiring of the way Life expressed itself. He saw feathers, fur and scales. So many different forms of beings. Some wore grav packs and some needed breathing masks, but many were at home in Coruscant's atmosphere. "I'm out walking with it. It'll let me know if I need to heighten my awareness."

"It is instinct?"

Luke nodded. "Yeah, like instinct. You know how the Tuskan Raiders are bonded with their Bantha mount?" Luke asked, pretty sure that Chewie knew of the native Tatooinian humanoids who had a joint partnership with the large, furry mammals of the desert. Bantha were domesticated yet not quite tamed; it was the intelligence of the animal that allowed them to live symbiotically with the Sand People.

"Yes..."

"That's me and the Force." It wasn't really, maybe not at all, Luke reflected, but it was a difficult concept to explain. "We understand each other and respect our own strengths. We don't demand of the other, unless we have to." Luke pointed with his chin. "See her? The human in the purple cloaK? If I were totally absorbed in the Force, it could show me all her alternatives. Like if she turns right she might fall and break her leg and meet her husband in the medcenter, or if she turns left she'll never marry but have a successful career."

"You're bullshitting me," Chewie barked.

Luke smiled angelically. "I am. But everyone usually has more than one path. Sometimes their destiny is the same no matter what they choose." _Like my mother, Padme._ "But I could lose my whole self here tonight; wondering, choosing for everyone."

"And we would get nowhere."

"Right. Like Yoda, sitting in the swamp for twenty years."

"Alright," Chewie decided. "I will use my instinct and sense of smell, and you take your Force for a walk."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She sneaked a look at him. He was working, she saw. Not working. He was being Han. On the lookout for trouble, eyes scanning the crowd, measuring, anticipating. He never stopped.

When had he learned this? She would like to see him relax. It was an excellent quality in a Rebel soldier; just one reason why she always wanted to see him join their ranks. He hadn't learned it at the Imperial Academy. From what she'd seen of officers and troopers they'd been full of themselves, grandiose in their conceit.

And she used to think Han had a big ego. But he couldn't; not with thinking his life would take a downward turn at any moment. What would make him think that?

Her answer came swiftly. _His childhood_. Competing with the insects that fought to lay their eggs in discarded food, only trying to find something to eat. Shooed away by another human who lacked the compassion to differentiate a boy from a distasteful, disease-carrying pest.

Below them, somewhere in the lower levels, beings still lived like that. Mon's description of her floated to mind: Orphan of the Galaxy. But these were the true orphans. On impulse she grabbed Han's hand.

A very short humanoid with a lot of facial hair beckoned at her, inviting her into his boutique. She smiled at him from under her hat but shook her head demurely.

She was working too, working at being Leia. Observing, acknowledging. _If I am an orphan of the galaxy, then I am a princess among her people._

The contrast of her past and present struck her suddenly. As an Alderaanian Princess, it would never occur to her to even consider to be out like this. If the Princess were out for a walk, it would have been on a calendar for months, and a security detail would follow. Not by accident, the Princess would meet some lovely children and accept their offered bouquets. Never from hungry, dirty ones. Being out with a man, holding his hand, would have caused outrage on Alderaan.

She squeezed Han's hand tighter, just to let her thoughts know, to remind her, that Alderaan was not always right.

It was a new realization for her. Since the planet's destruction she held herself the steward of traditions and ways. She had not been able to step away from her own history, to view it with the unbiased approach of someone whose own traditions were vastly different. Leia, child of Alderaan, would have been shocked at the idea of a woman unsupervised by her family while with a suitor. Leia, orphan of the Galaxy, would have it no other way.

It was empowering. She couldn't help a smile. "Is this a date?" she said aloud.

"You askin' me on a date, Sweetheart?" Han drawled with his own grin.

"I don't think I know what a proper date is. Do you?"

Han's eyes crinkled in a smile, and she was glad for it. "Guess not."

"I think, on Alderaan, I'd have been married by now," she said slowly. Her eyes lost focus as she tried to imagine herself as a wife. "Seems so utterly foreign." She looked up at Han's face. He seemed to be trying to imagine the same thing, and was getting the same result.

She laughed. "But if you had asked my eleven-year old self what I expected from my life, that would be it. Part of the duty of a Princess. Never this. I wouldn't be able to fathom it," she waved her hand, "if someone told me this was my future." She shook her head, marveling. "What about you?"

"What, that someday I'd be strolling with a princess? Wouldn't surprise me a bit," Han answered wryly. "I've done stranger things."

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There was a certain order to the Gaslight District, and Luke found a kind of geometry that was very pleasing to the eye. The pedestrian corridor was clearly outlined by a defined border of sidewalk. Ahead of him the lines of sidewalk narrowed in an optical illusion to join in the center of his field of vision. On either side of him, the businesses presented themselves equally to the public. No single establishment displayed its superiority by encroaching into the corridor, though Luke thought surely there was room for it. There was a spirit of fair play, of a common goal.

"Watch where you're going," Chewie warned, tugging on Luke's sleeve and jerking Luke toward him.

"Sorry," Luke excused himself to a large being, whose species Luke did not recognize. He wasn't sure whether the being understood Basic or even if his gesture of apology was universal, but the being continued on its way, hardly paying Luke notice.

The District was very crowded, but again, there maintained a certain decorum of behavior. Beings milled about, exiting a store, entering others, dashing in front of some while others patiently gave way. There was no pushing; no shoving. Again, Luke was struck with a sense of order, a shared experience.

"You're enjoying this," Chewie observed.

Luke nodded. "I always liked market days on Tatooine. We only went once a month, but it was something I looked forward to."

He cast himself back in time. His aunt and uncle had enjoyed the monthly journey into Mos Espa as well. Moisture farms were spread out a good distance in between homesteads, and travel to and from risked encountering the danger of Sand People or storms. Families lived isolated lives. Market Days alleviated the strain and loneliness. A day a month set aside for travel, visiting and supplies was a highlight. There was no school scheduled after a market day as it was an unofficial holiday, and Luke would chase his friends around in the sand while the adults shared water and stories.

"You weren't impressed with Coruscant when we first came."

"No," Luke remembered. "I wasn't. But then, it wasn't really itself. Palpatine had some effect on it. I feel now like it's breathed a great sigh of relief."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Leia still held Han's hand. They were in no hurry. It was a rare thing indeed, she thought, to not feel the pressure of the war. They had operated under great pressure, always a sense of urgency weighing down their shoulders. Hers, anyway.

She looked down at her hand in his. His was large, and firm, and warm, and sometimes it twitched in a squeeze.

He was here completely for her.

The realization gave her a thrill. Chewie had not pushed him; Rieekan had not ordered it. Luke had not suggested it and Mon had not recommended it.

He was here to offer emotional support, if she needed it, and he was here to enjoy spending time with her.

_Time._

_Yes, time,_ she answered. Time had once meant the passage of how she spent her life and then it had become urgent, as if hers would run out. Now it spread out leisurely, without foresight. Time had meant changing textiles and reaching a marriageable age. Time had always dictated to her but now she saw the tides had turned; she was the one in charge. _It's my time._

There was a man with her; and once upon a time, he would not have been allowed. And he loved her.

She pulled on his hand, steering him towards a store front that sold books.

"Did you ever read a love story?" she asked him.

Han burst out laughing. "No," he said, and laughed some more. "No."

She whacked his forearm lightly. "I did. I always wondered, if love was like that."

"Like what?"

"Oh," she shrugged dismissively. "The heroine is giddy, and enormously happy. Emotions are intense, and there's lots of tears."

"Sounds like a stupid story," Han said.

She smiled. "Sometimes they are. There are some good ones. Do you know Tales of a Corellian Princess? I dreamed once you told me it was your favorite."

"They didn't offer classic lit at the Academy. We read blueprints and studied battle formations." Han said.

"It was when you were gone. You were in my dreams a lot. Luke said it was the Force, telling me things."

"No, it was your subconscious telling you I'd grown on you."

Leia laughed again. "I think that's true, too."

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Luke let Chewie keep an eye on Han and Leia. The Wookiee was many heads taller than most of the other beings here, and had a clear view.

"Will you establish your academy here?" Chewie asked.

It made sense to ask, Luke thought. After all, the Jedi Temple stood here for hundreds of years, training thousands of Jedi. He could reclaim it, bring it back to life.

"No," he answered with a sigh. "I don't think so. The city isn't for me, even if the academy were self-contained like the Temple was."

"The Temple was its own city." "I saw that," Luke agreed. An image nudged at the back of his mind, his family venturing out for market days. Shaking off weeks of solitude, anticipating contact. "I'd rather it be somewhere less affected. Not built-up, you know what I mean?"

"Urbanized," Chewie defined for him.

"Yeah, I suppose. Somewhere we can feel the Force without distraction. Where it's pure."

"Dagobah?"

"Maybe," Luke squirmed. He was excited to teach the Force, excited to meet others who shared his ability. But the nuts and bolts of actually establishing a place of learning was overwhelming. He had a sneaky suspicion such thoughts bored even the Force. When he tried to get direction from it in meditations he got nowhere. "It sure is pure there. But is there enough solid ground to build a large complex? Most of it was swamp."

"True."

"Why are we stopping? Do you- oh." Luke smiled. In the middle of the corridor, Han and Leia were embracing. Han's face was lowered to hers, as if he were murmuring in her ear. He had swept her hat off and held it in his hand at the back of her head. It was wide enough to cover one side of her face, but Luke and Chewie had a glimpse of the other side. Leia's eyes were closed, as were her lips, which curved in a small smile of contentment.

They stood in the middle of the walkway while all around them beings detoured and swerved, never coming close.

"Chewie, maybe we should go back," Luke said, beginning to feel awkward at watching the intimate moment between his sister and friend. "Let them have their night."

Somebody jostled Luke. "Excuse me," a Rodian apologized.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Chewie and Luke are following us," Leia informed Han.

He snorted. "Tell me something I don't know."

They were enjoying a creamed ice wine. Leia licked a bit of the fermented syrup off a corner of her mouth. "I sensed Luke. When did you know?" As far as she knew, he had not looked behind them.

"Saw Chewie's reflection in the window of one of the boutiques you stopped to look at."

"How should we handle that?"

Han shrugged unconcernedly. "It's the way it is, Princess. Happens to me all the time."

"Hm," she murmured in acceptance. "You'll always have Chewie."

"And you'll always have Luke." Leia smiled.

"Not if he doesn't stop following me." Han laughed.

"I'm sure he's keeping Chewie company."

"Chewie's duty," Leia said softly.

"Yep."

Han was looking forward, not back. While he looked ahead, he could still glimpse his past, mirrored in his own reflection. He didn't wear it, like she had the tiara of a princess or the robes of a Senator. It was unseen, but if someone looked it was evident, adding dimension to his character.

Leia unlinked Han's arm from hers and walked alone to another store front, but she didn't notice the wares artfully displayed in the window.

She stared at her own reflection.

She saw a woman, the same one who stared back defiantly from the _Falcon's_ reflector.

The woman was named a Princess, a role over which she had no say. She grew up Princess Leia, taking scheduled walks through towns and accepting bouquets from children.

The woman had become Senator Organa, following in her father's footsteps. Generations of Organas had held seats in the Senate. It was more than civic duty; it was family tradition, just like changing the fabrics on Linens Day on Alderaan.

She was no longer either of these, because Alderaan was no longer. But they were there, in her reflection, telling her story.

"My duty," she whispered. Orphan of the Galaxy. _Time to go, Princess._

"Something I don't know, Sweetheart?" Han asked, his voice low and droll in her ear.

Leia shook her head quickly, to change the focus from her reflection in the glass to what was displayed within.

Hanging among ribbons and delicate baskets lined with quilted padding were various items designed for human use; some in mute, calming colors; others bright and energetic. Leia saw adorable, sweet, _tiny_ clothing; cuddly plush animals, rattles and swaddling blankets.

She burst into laughter. "Scoundrel."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"They spotted us," Luke told Chewie.

"They did not need to," Chewie said. "Han knows I would come."

"Well, I don't know if Han said anything. But Leia knows I'm here."

"Why are they looking in that baby store?" Chewie wondered.

"They're standing there a long time," Luke observed.

"She can't be with child?" Chewie said.

"I doubt it. Han doesn't look worried."

"Of course he wouldn't. He'd be…" Chewie tried to describe how he predicted his friend would react. Proud? Happy? "...smug."

"I think they're playing with us. It's Leia's doing – she's always good with words." Luke was proud of himself. He actually caught the double meaning of the store's name and Leia's message. "See? 'Expecting Treasures.' She's telling us there's more than meets the eye to her."

"Not a baby, I hope."

Luke sensed resolution in Leia's posture. _No, Force_ , he told his constant companion. _Let events unfold as they will._ "Let's just stop the hunt. They know we're here. Let's get some of that creamed ice wine."

 


	55. Chapter 55

He can hear Leia's voice somewhere, drifting through the corridors. She sounds calm, as if she were reasoning with Jabba, and not like she is in urgent peril, but Han knows; knows she is in terrible danger and he has to get to her. He moves through the dark sand-covered hallways, following her voice, wanting to call out, wanting to run to her, but knows that he can't. If he shouts, if he hurtles through the sand, the rancor will be on him.

The torch light flickers and he walks stealthily, hearing his own breathing and Leia's logical, unworried voice.

"There you are!" the rancor cub squeals delightedly, springing onto Han's back. He is small, standing maybe as high as Han's knees, his fur so soft. He is like an infant Wookiee, with nails not quite ready to claw into the barks of trees, with teeth not quite sharp enough to rip flesh.

"Play with me," the baby rancor urges and Han starts to run, obedient and desperate, listening for Leia beneath the joyful shrieks of the rancor.

The rancor tugs at the neck of his shirt. "Not that way," he demands, but that is where Leia is. "Not that way," he says again, and Han thinks to himself, _I have to get Leia out of there_ , and the rancor reads his mind. He materializes as an adult, and the weight of his armored skin and powerful muscles sends Han to his knees. His claws can shred, his teeth crush bones, and as Han tumbles to the ground he yells "Leia!"

 _Damn rancor_.

Han lay tense and motionless on his bunk, trying to come to complete awareness. He could hear Chewie, but not Leia. Leia wasn't on board, having taken rooms with Luke somewhere in the city. Chewie was singing, and Han listened as if he were hearing Wookiee song for the first time. _That's where the dream came from,_ he determined. _Sounds like he's growling._

Subconsciously he dreamed Chewie. Interesting that he would be a baby rancor. And a cute one at that. More like Chewie's son, left on Kashyyk, with the same delighted squeal when he finally got to see his father on infrequent visits.

It had been a while since Han had seen Chewie's son. _Probably grew a lot._ He'd been quite taken with his partner's offspring. Han nodded to himself. Yes, he'd given the little cub rides on his back. _Cute little bugger._

And Leia in the dream had been quite safe. She was fine. He still heard her voice; rational, unafraid. She was fine.

 _Damn rancor._ It was odd, of all the things he could come out of Jabba's with, it was the rancor. What was it called? Fodder listed, that's what it was. He hadn't really had anything to do with the rancor, other than avoid being fodder listed. When he was sentenced to death it was by the Sarlacc, not the rancor. So why….

Han let the thought remain unarticulated. He got out of bed, squared his shoulders, and set himself for the day. He was going to make a modification on the _Falcon._

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He built a little fort around himself.

Inside the little semicircle of dull gray metal wall panels, fluffy insulation, toolbox and a coil of insulated wire, Han set about removing a circuit board with satisfaction. It was better than pacing the ship.

Han reached inside the gaping hole he had created and tugged at the old wiring, double checking that they weren't live. He had to bend at his side, and squinted up at the wires, only to have Chewie's furry knee caps throw everything in shadow.

"Hey," Han protested. "You're in my light."

"The courier came," Chewie told him. "He brought the registration and our licenses."

From Han's vantage point, cross-legged on the floor, half inside the wall, he could only reach his eyes to Chewie's stomach. "Good." He rapped the Wookiee on the shins. "Move."

Chewie complied, shifting to the side two steps. A few days ago, he and Han had ventured to Citizen's Square to obtain the necessary paperwork to begin their careers as pilots in the New Republic.

They had done it as General Rieekan requested, honestly and openly. Their efforts had been rewarded with a clean slate and bureaucratic efficiency. They wasted a day just gathering whatever the Department of Identity and Registry Transport Services required.

It had Han fuming. "What is this crap?" he had complained. "Proof of instruction? Flight time? D.I.R.T.S want logs! And proof of ID. Ridiculous," he had spat. "Neither of us have the original documents."

It was true. Chewie had lost his when he became a slave, and Han had told him when he entered the Academy as a Naval pilot cadet he had enrolled with forged docs. They both plied their smuggling trades with false IDs, and while Han had numerous names and birth dates and the _Falcon_ also had many aliases, Chewie had been honest with his information. The document itself might be false, but the being it pretended to represent was completely upfront.

"We can find someone to do this for us faster than these bureaucrats," Han suggested snidely, "and I'd have more free time," but Chewie, as well as Luke and Leia, had talked him down.

The New Republic thought they would wrap him up in red tape, thought they would wrap him up and present him to the galaxy in a fancy bow, like it was their gift to him, bestowing the honor of a license so he could fly through the stars legally, as if the stars kept track of things like that.

Now, Han bit on a wire cap between his teeth. _They tried, but I'm still a fraud._

Chewie was opening the packet.

"What are you opening it for?" Han spat the cap into his palm. "Just throw it in the lock box with the other stuff."

Big legs, thick as tree trunks, continued to block Han's view, reminding him how strong and ferocious the Wookiee could be. Ever vigilant, Chewie had Han's back whenever they stepped off the Falcon, but Han had a feeling his Wookiee partner at other times was keeping some sort of vigil over him, going way further than a Life Debt required, and it irritated Han to no end.

"Just making sure it's all here," Chewie reasoned with him.

Han waved the crimping tool, not listening, and returned to his rewiring project.

"Registered as the _Millennium Falcon_ ," Chewie read aloud. "At least she'll maintain her reputation."

"Wrong crowd, pal," Han muttered. "No more smuggling, remember?" He was itching to do it, feeling childish and spiteful. Chewie wasn't the only one watching him. He knew his movements were being monitored, by the whole city it seemed. Security kept sentry outside his ship, and while they were there to keep the holo reporters at a distance Han knew they would report his doings back to whoever was in charge of making sure the Liberator toed the line.

The reporters were becoming a nuisance. The day he and Chewie had gone to Citizen's Square they had followed him from the ship to the bank of elevator cars leading to the public entrance of the port. Han had pushed a few into each other, tripping them for good measure so they fell and wouldn't get up quickly, while Chewie picked one up and tossed him lightly into the crowd of others.

"Comb my knuckle hairs!" he had shouted in an ear-rattling decibel. It made perfect sense on Kashyyk, where it was uttered as an expression of dominance and subjugation, but yelled from the elevator banks into a crowd where no one else was Wookiee, Han found it hilarious. It brought a sense of fun to the whole proceeding, and he had laughed as he pushed all the buttons on the car so the reporters wouldn't know which level they got out at. Han's view of the crowd narrowed as the elevator door started to close, but cameras flashed and the reporters objected loudly, one human yelling to Han, "can't you do anything about your Wookiee?"

Han had lifted his shoulders and hands in mock helplessness. "I can't control him," he said as the doors slid shut on the pair.

He still had a good view of Chewie's knees and was curiously observing how long the fur on them was, when Chewie broke into his thoughts. "Since when are you thirty-two?"

Han blinked, remembering. "I'm not counting Jabba's."

"You were thirty-three when you went. And you lived it. It's all over you, like fungus spores. You can't just skip it," Chewie stated.

"Well I just did," Han snapped, his mood changing. The reference to fungus spores was, again, purely Wookiee culture, but Han got the gist. Fungus spores traveled the forests of Kashyyk invisibly, landing everywhere unseen, until one day when the rains came and the magnificent mushrooms erupted everywhere, fully grown and glorious. Wookiees felt maturity developed similarly. Little life lessons added character, until one day, the Wookiee cub was an adult.

Chewie did not push him. "Do you need some help with that?" he asked, indicating Han's project with a kick of his foot.

"I'd have asked you if I did," Han retorted.

"Heard from Luke yet?" Chewie seemed reluctant to leave Han to his own thoughts. Why his partner found it necessary to hover, Han had no idea. Maybe Chewie was bored, too.

"No," Han said. He hefted the crimping tool again in his hand. "He's busy."

"No doubt," Chewie commented.

Luke had comm'd three nights ago, enthused and happy. A prominent human businessman had started the ball rolling, and contacted Luke with interest in a monetary donation for an academy for Force studies. With Leia's help and the businessman's contacts, Luke was in negotiations to build a trust.

The Golden Boy, the media had named him. Ironic, Han mused, because it seemed to him Luke's hair seemed to be darkening. Maybe it was from no longer living under the bleaching light of twin suns on Tatoooine. Maybe it was just age. Maybe the Force caused it. Han stuck his head back into the open panel, checking the new wiring.

"I suppose I should say congratulations," Chewie said.

"For what?" Han asked. He reached for the soldering iron and brought the flame to life.

"For your pilot's license. Now you're part of the New Republic," Chewie continued.

"Woohoo," Han answered. To Han, the issued license had little to do with being a pilot. Flying was like breathing. There was no note on a flimsi telling him he was alive, either. He just was. Same as he was a pilot.

Chewie chuckled. "So where to?"

"Huh?"

"Where shall we go?"

"Go?" Han echoed inattentively. He finished soldering and lay the iron on the floor by his leg. "I'm in the middle of a repair."

"I meant our first destination as freighter pilots," Chewie said.

"Oh." Han had no idea. He hadn't thought that far ahead yet. "We don't even have a cargo."

"We have credits to buy some," Chewie pointed out.

"Probably," Han agreed. "But it's not like going into a cantina and seeking out a crime boss who wants to move drugs or guns. There's wholesale accounts and credit checks and bureaucratic bullshit." He waved his hand, wanting to throw protocol and procedures in the airlock.

"Not to mention what you want to ship. Have you thought about that?"

Han shook his head. There were numerous directions he could go. It was a big galaxy. In some ways, too big. He knew he wanted to remain an independent shipper. He didn't want his bird to become part of some company's fleet.

It hadn't ever mattered much what he flew, so long as he flew. His various enterprises had taken him all over the galaxy. He was willing to bet he'd been more places than most pilots.

"How about Kashyyk?" Chewie asked, a hint of suggestion in his voice.

Han grunted. "What's the payoff? I would need to charge you passage just to make it pay for itself."

"You would, too," Chewie responded.

"I was just thinking about your little cub," Han told him. "It has been a while."

"It is always too long." "Not my fault, pal." Han and Chewie had visited this issue before, and the Life Debt precluded any resolution. It was hopeless for Han to wish Chewie would surrender the Life Debt and it was hopeless for Chewie to wish Han would be content to settle on Kashyyk.

"What could we bring to Kashyyk that Wookiees would pay for?" Han wondered aloud.

"Wookiees," Chewie answered solemnly, and Han nodded.

His comm chirped. Han wiped dust off his hands and groped for the pocket lining the inside of his vest.

"Han, why haven't you been here already?" Luke's voice came. Han read an odd tone. There was a bit of a complaint, a frustration, and confusion.

"I don't know, kid," Han answered. "Just where am I supposed to be?"

"Down here," Luke said uselessly. "With us."

"Been laying low," Han explained. Chewie shifted on his feet again, as if trying to hear better.

"I thought you'd come soon as you heard."

Han was struck with a sudden sense of foreboding. "Heard what?"

"About – didn't Doc Brack comm you?"

Han shook his head at the comm, growing aggravated with the futility of Luke's conversation. "No. What is it?"

"He was supposed to call you – why didn't he call you I wonder?"

"Luke, what?" Han demanded. "Would you just say something already?"

"It's about Maranya."

The hand propping the wall panel up dropped to Han's lap and Chewie stooped to hold it in place.

"What about her," Han said.

"She...Han, I'm sorry," Luke said, sounding sincere. "She's here in the medcenter."

"She works there," Han insisted, as if that was the only reason she could be there. he turned his back on Chewie and hunched over the little comm unit in his hand.

"No. Well, yes, that's true, but she's a patient now."

Han's fingers tapped rapidly and he was aware of a nervous apprehension deep in his gut. "What happened?"

Luke lowered his voice. "She tried to kill herself the other night. I'm sorry, Han. We wanted you-

"What?" "I know. We talked about you needing to know, Leia and me -" The drill Han was holding clattered to the floor. "- Han?"

Han lowered his head to look at the wall panel; everything else was too busy or too hard to see or something. _"What?"_ he hissed into the comm again. Chewie moaned and he snapped his hand at him, motioning him away.

"-And we asked Doc Brack to tell you. That was the one job we gave him. I'm sorry. "

"What the fuck happened?" "No one really knows," Luke explained. "I mean, what prompted it. She's been in the medcenter two days. That's why I called; I didn't even think -"

"Shit, Luke."

"I know, Han." _"Shit."_

"Yeah."

Han sat, his hands through his hair, holding his head up. "What'd she do that for?" he demanded. His hand scrubbed over his jaw and he just wanted to hit something.

"Go," Chewie indicated the mess with a sweep of his foot. "Go. I'll finish this."

Han nodded distractedly at him. He found his breathing was shallow and one thought was pressing at him. Pills, he guessed. She had access. Doc Brack's pills. In the medcenter it'd be easy. But there were other ways. Guns were easy to obtain on a military base. With Maranya, you never knew what she was thinking. That's why this had happened, you never knew.

But Han knew, all of a sudden. He knew how. "What'd she do?" he asked Luke quietly.

There was a pause at the other end of the comm, as if Luke knew Han's thoughts. "She slashed herself."

The damn Rancor. Han nodded again. Yes, he knew what she was thinking.

"Go," Chewie repeated. Han stood, but acted as if he didn't know which way to turn. He brushed pieces of rubber off his pants and Chewie patted his back, finishing with a gentle prod towards the exit.

Blood. She wanted blood.

"Han?" Luke's voice came.

She needed to bleed.

"Yeah, kid."

"I'll rent you a speeder," Chewie decided, seeing Han was agitated enough to wrench the controls away from a cab pilot. "You need to do something. Just don't crash, or break laws. Wait here."

"I'll come," Han told Luke. "I'm coming. Where are you?"

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Luke sat in the waiting room, rubbing the contours of his knuckle, considering.

He was staring at the chair in front of him. It was a nerf hide chair. There was a row of them. He had taken a seat on it moments earlier, and gotten a jolt of ...something. Startled, he'd risen and stared at it, then with a slow dawning comprehension went and dragged a simpler chair before the nerf hide one. It was duroplast, and didn't bother him at all.

There was too much Force. It was in the chair. T

entatively, Luke stretched his forefinger out and rubbed the fabric upward. It seemed to darken in color, and felt rough under his fingertips. He eyed it's appearance a moment, then used his finger to stroke the fabric downward, where it felt softer and got lighter.

 _It's alright,_ he told the chair. _I know_.

He closed his eyes and let air out his nostrils. _I can't keep doing this. I'll go crazy._

 _Balance._ Yoda's advice whispered in the cavities of his mind.

 _Yes, balance._ It was so much more now then his senses. It was more than seeing through the darkness, smelling more keenly, hearing more sharply. It was everything everywhere; the past, present and future, relentless and always. He used to see the Force as a kind of coiling tendril, showing him, connecting things. Now the tendrils overlapped and turned around and bounced, again and again, in and over until he lost sight of the original threads.

 _I'm part of life, too. I have to be able to separate it._ The Force was in everyone. In his sister, about whom he only needed to think in order to share her thoughts. In Han, who drifted on instinct and reaction, even in Maranya, in a bed down the hall, isolated and bereft. Luke wondered about his two masters, Ben and Yoda. They were calm, they were wise. Yet they had moments where they struggled too.

Was there anyone he knew who had balance? Was it achievable? He considered his sister. Leia was so rational, so composed. She would get there, someday, he recognized. But she was only just beginning to open her heart. She had closed it off, allowed her head to dictate her actions. Han was another with a closed-off heart, but somehow it still ruled, so that his head had no idea why or what his heart was doing. _And I'm all heart,_ Luke thought to himself.

 _Chewie has it._ Luke nodded. Yes. Of all the beings Luke knew, Chewie was the most balanced. Even physically, his body was the embodiment of balance. His stance was unshakable, whether in battle or with friends. Chewie knew his place among his tribe, knew his place among the trees, knew other's place and their relation to the whole.

 _It's like this, nerf hide chair,_ Luke sat forward and looked at the chair. _The Force is everywhere, but it's not cruel. There's Dark and Light, and each serve a purpose, just like you and me. We may not know the purpose for a long, long time. Like my mother, and why she had to die. She had to die because my father had to fall and her children had to restore him and balance the Force._ Luke's brow furrowed with emotional pain. _If all that didn't need to happen then she wouldn't need to have existed at all. And for as brief as her life was, and for the amount of pain she felt at the end, I'm glad to know her love. I'd rather have that than nothing at all._

Luke brought his finger along the suede fabric again. _You served. And you matter. And I appreciate you._

The Force-past of the chair subdued and Han Solo came barreling down the hallway.

Luke sat up, his concentration broken. "Han?" In the time it took to say his name, Han had entered and exited one room, and now a droid and a med tech were trailing him. Han was angry, determined, aggravated. Luke got up and followed as Han disappeared into another room, and was almost run over as he came out almost as quickly.

"Sir!" A med tech hailed him angrily, as if words alone could stop him.

The Force showed Luke its lazy tendrils leading to Maranya's room, and he stood outside the third door Han opened, waiting for him to come out again so he could direct him, when he heard a muffled shout, mutters of surprise, and Han's voice.

"What the hell did you do to her?"

Luke entered the room in time enough to see Han with his forearm against Doc Brack's chest, pushing him against the wall. Doc Brack had his hands on Han's wrist, moving backwards in quick, shuffling steps, and was sputtering.

"What? Solo! Nothing! I swear, nothing!"

Two med techs were now attempting to separate the two men. One pushed between Han and Doc Brack, attempting to separate them, while a second grappled at Han's jacket. The droid was calling into a comm.

Luke used the Force and brought the comm to his palm. "No," he told the droid apologetically. "I'll take care of it." He stepped to the opposite side of the med tech.

"I'm as surprised as you," Doc Brack said, his voice panicked. "I had no idea it was that bad."

"Anyone could see it was," Han growled. "You stupid idiot.""Han!" Luke barked.

"Then why didn't you do something?" Doc Brack shot back.

"Han!" Luke finally got his attention, pulling on his elbow. "Come on, not here. Come outside. This is a patients' room."

Han flung his arm off Doc Brack's chest, finally getting a hold on his bearings. He gave a sharp nod to the patient, who gaped in surprise, and left without apology.

Once more, Luke followed. Han was out in the lobby room, pacing back and forth a short distance, hands on his hips. "Do you want to see her?" Luke asked.

"She's here?" Han asked stupidly. "If you kept opening doors, you'd have found her eventually," Luke said acerbically. "I told you she was. What'd you go after Doc Brack for?"

Abruptly, the fight gone out, Han sank onto the nerf hide chair. He pushed his palm up his forehead. "I was pissed." He met Luke's eye, who seemed to demand some more explanation from him "Wanted someone to blame, I guess."

"Don't blame yourself," Luke said.

"I'm not," Han bristled, his anger rising quickly again. "I just said I wanted someone to blame."

"To absolve yourself," Luke said sagely.

"Whatever." Han shook his head, and Luke thought he heard him mumble something about 'Yoda speak'. Han glanced shyly at Luke. "How is she?"

Luke nodded. "She'll be okay." A look of scorn crossed Han's face. "Physically," he emended.

The two men were silent a moment.

"Did you really see it?" Luke asked Han.

Han broke eye contact and shrugged listlessly. "Now that it happened, yeah."

Luke understood. "Hindsight is everything," he said.

"You didn't?" Han's eyes were back on Luke's, challenging.

Luke dropped his hands to his lap. "I didn't look," he confessed. "We saw her only a few times, since Tatooine, and she's always quiet...it's probably why she did it. Because we should have asked more, made sure. But we chose to pass over it." Guilt was finding its way into him now. "I thought she had enough, you know? I know she was seeing a counselor, and she had Doc Brack."

"He'd be no help," Han muttered.

"Why do you say that?" "Because." Han waved a hand. "Because he came from the same thing. He either wouldn't know, either, how to be, or, or he's as fucked as she is."

"What about you?"

"I'm not the one in a bed, Luke," Han sneered.

"But I think you two can help each other. Alright, then you help her," Luke said as Han made to protest that he didn't need any help. "Doc Brack was the medic. There for Spice. So he was mostly safe. But you were with her, right? In that cell? Slave and prisoner? You haven't said anything, Han, but I'm sure you have your own hell. I know hers was six years long. Maybe if you two just talk to each other, I don't know, maybe things will seem better."

Han made no answer and after a moment's wait Luke saw he wouldn't. "I'll go see if she's up for visitors," he told Han.

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The Kind One was in her room.

"Maranya?" he said softly, approaching her bed.

She turned her head away. "Maranya? The medic said I could sit with you a while." His voice was as soft and gentle as she remembered it, but she knew if she looked at him she would see much more. "Can I hold your hand?" he asked.

Maranya made no acknowledgment. She would not look and she couldn't hear it, but somehow she knew he was slowly crawling his fingers towards her hand.

A fingertip brushed her upper palm and she pressed her lips together forbidding a scream or tears.

"There," Luke said softly, curling his fingers around hers.

She gave a heaving sigh. "I'm very sorry," Luke told her. He tried again. "I wish I had understood. How hard it's been for you. I hate to think of you so alone..." his voice drifted sadly off, feeling awkward. But he still held her hand.

"Han is here. He wants to see you," Luke mentioned.

"Liar."

Luke smiled at her first words. "But he's here. And he will see you, if you want him to. Do you?"

Luke watched her face carefully. "He doesn't hate you," he told her, sensing her thoughts.

She turned to look at him. "Now you're the liar."

He smiled again, glad for her interaction. "He doesn't. You know that. It's hard for him too, I think, and seeing you...I think...Well, you're not the only one who hates themselves."

She turned her face away again.

"You're not alone, Maranya. I want you to know that. It's important," Luke said quietly. "My sister Leia has been working with beings that have been in situations kind of like yours. There's help."

"I had help." Her chin trembled. "I just couldn't do it."

"No." Luke shook his head earnestly. "No," he denied her. "You didn't get enough help." He sat back, letting go of her hand. "It's not that you can't. Maybe we moved too fast."

His eyes roamed her prone figure. She was under a sheet, just her arms, throat and head bare, and there were cuts all over. From what he had heard, it was an odd way to try and end one's life. She had attacked herself.

"Too fast?" she said.

"Yes, too fast. Maybe instead of having you train with Doc Brack you should have just tried to assimilate yourself, instead of yourself and a job." Luke looked at all the medical equipment. "It's impressive you worked as well as you did."

"What do you miss?" she asked suddenly.

"Miss?"

"Yes. About Tatooine."

"Oh. Well, I suppose..." Luke screwed up his lips. Beru was the first thought that came to his mind. "If there's anything to miss," he joked lamely, but saw she was quite serious. "I miss the breeze. At evening time, when the big sun is setting. It always made a breeze."

Maranya nodded. "I miss the sand."

"Really? The sand?" Luke did not miss the sand at all. It burned, it whipped, it snuck inside uninvited.

She nodded again. "It was my bed. I slept in it. Sleep meant not having..." she stopped. The one difference between Jabba's and the base was that talking about Jabba's at the base was wrong. "I just got to sleep, to be...free. And at night it was always cool. And it was deep." Her brow knotted and she fought not to cry again. No bed had been the sanctuary the sand was. "It held me."

Luke was moved. That sand should give her the love and support she'd needed so badly. _Sand_. But he could still feel the breeze, how it moved his hair, how it filled him with a sense of otherness, if that was a term. How an inanimate object could tell him that life was broad, that experiences waited if he just continued to dream. He smiled at her. "I get it."

Luke stayed with her a while. He selected yellow crackers from the vending machine and he combed her hair since she had damaged a tendon in her hand and couldn't hold a brush. They talked about hair, hers and Leia's and Chewie's, and about things only a Tatooinian would understand. He did most of the talking. There were a few families they had in common acquaintance, so Luke shared stories of the ones he had gone to school with. When he left her room she was sitting up with a cup of water on a tray in front of her, and her eyes had a bit of a gleam back in them.

Han was still seated in the waiting room. Luke was surprised and pleased. He had expected to return to his rooms alone.

Han tossed a flimsi aside as Luke returned.

"What are you reading?" Luke asked.

"Some crap," Han dismissed. "Patient library sucks."

"You mean they don't have the latest tool catalog?" Luke teased.

Han gave a sardonic grin, and awaited Luke's report expectantly.

"She's not ready to see you," Luke told him.

Evident relief swept Han's face. "But she's doing good. At least," Luke bobbed his head to express it better. "It was a quality visit. We talked a lot."

"Talked?" "Yeah. You want to grab a bite to eat? I've got rooms near here. Sort of off-base housing. Leia's next door."

"Sure."

They left the waiting room, continuing to converse as they walked side by side through the medcenter.

"Yeah," Luke continued, waving a hand. "We talked about Tatooine mainly. Just general things. Families we knew. Sand."

"Got to talk about sand," Han said, rolling his eyes.

"Sand is special to her. It is," Luke defended. "She said it was the only time she was free, when she was sleeping in it. And that it held her. I got the image of a hug. Nestled in this embrace of sand. What?"

"Nothing." Han had not been able to suppress a shiver as Luke talked. "She say anything about the rancor?"

"The rancor?" Luke's brows shot up. "No. But I want to ask you." Something connected, a vagueness came into focus. "What she did - I told you she slashed herself? She did, but all over. She has cuts everywhere - face, hands, arms. Some are deep and some are long." They reached Luke's rooms and he put in his code. "It's like she -" He stopped, realizing Han was nodding in comprehension.

"Rancor attack. She mentioned it, alright." Han stepped inside, eyes not taking in the accommodations. That was how it was supposed to end. With the damn rancor.


	56. Chapter 56

A part of him knew he was a fool to come down here, but like so many of the things he had done in his life, he'd reacted upon impulse and just started descending. The idea appealed to him somehow. He couldn't explain it. Peering over the edge into the darkness, he was compelled to know when exactly that darkness happened, when you got so far down that you got swallowed up in it.

One level and it was not bad; just an air of neglect. Shabby. _Scruffy looking._

There was some trash in the pavement, circuit panels removed near entrances and doors off track. The pale outlines of lettering identifying a building's use could still be seen. Han rubbed over the stubble on his jaw. He hadn't shaved in a couple of days. _We're both scruffy looking._

 _That's why I'm here,_ Han decided. _Need something to match me. Not Luke with his perfect Jedi-ism; not Chewie suffocating me._

He moved in the shadows, his footfalls dull on the layers of grime and decades of disuse. He kept going, down, down. This world was familiar to him. He knew the hunger. He knew what it meant to be on your own. It had given him a pride of self-reliance that served him ever since. He wanted to feel that again.

He knew who he was down here. Smart, sly, shifty. A survivor.

His comm, the charge running low, beeped feebly. He took it out of his pocket, scowled at it. "What?" he said.

"You still at the medcenter?" Chewie's voice would be enough to cause a Lurker to keep his distance.

"I'm at Luke's," Han lied.

"I thought I would visit Simple Girl," Chewie said. "Do you want to meet up?"

"No, you go on ahead." Effortlessly, his voice sounded natural. "I'll be on my way back."

"How is she? Will she see me?"

"She likes you," Han spoke truthfully. "Even without a translator."

"How are you? Did you calm down?"

"Yeah, sure. Fine. Did you finish that rewire job I started?"

"I told you I would."

"I know." Han already knew what the answer would be. Chewie was not just a being of his word. He was a constant truth. You met him once and you knew him forever. That's why Maranya had taken to him. "I'll see you later."

He disconnected the comm and set it gently against a building's wall. Someone might find it later and be able to make use of it. Han didn't need it.

He hadn't gone that far. Twenty levels or so. Enough. Enough to be like in the alleys of his youth. Enough to have to only think how to survive. Not to have to answer to watchful Wookiees, judicious Jedi, or even a beautiful Princess who kept trying to look into his heart.

This was easier. He could almost make out shapes in the dark, and he kept his ears alert for Lurkers. His nostrils welcomed the dank smell.

Han looked up. There was a haze above him; the lights of Coruscant and the speeder traffic glowed in a pale yellow light.

Once, there must have been lights down here. Once, this must have been an active part of the city. Han wondered how long ago it was the highest level. Now the city had turned its back on it. There were no residents, no businesses. There wasn't even any sign of municipal care; no trash pick up, no security patrol. The street lights hadn't burned out or been vandalized. They'd been turned off.

But there was life down here, he could smell it. Refuse, offal, decomposition; the fetid mark of the abandoned.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Luke?" Leia peered into the doorway of Luke's room from her own. He had the same settee, the same table, the same kitchen. "You ready?"

He came out of the sleeping area, buttoning the cuffs of a clean shirt. "Don't be so nervous," she advised him, straightening the collar of Luke's shirt. "It's just an interview."

"I know," Luke sighed. "I feel like I'm becoming a spokesman for the Force."

"You are," Leia told him. "This is important. The media is eating out of your hands now, and there's no better way to get word out than through an interview with a well-respected journalist."

They were entering a different phase of gathering support for Luke's Academy for Force Studies. It had become real enough. There was no campus yet, nor any students, but Luke had financial backing and two who would serve on a council. Three if he managed to get Leia to agree, but she still hadn't given him an answer.

The interview was to erase as much as possible perceptions of the past. In order for Luke's Academy to succeed, the Force needed to be embraced again as an entity able to stand on its own, but an entity that shared its presence with all life.

"I don't know," Luke fidgeted. "It sure is a different sort of destiny. One I'm not really comfortable with."

Leia gave him a bolstering grin. "You'll be fine. May the Force be with you."

"You use that phrase a lot," Luke said. "'May the Force be with you.' I never heard it until I joined the Rebellion."

"My father was a strong proponent of the Jedi," Leia said. "And the Alliance has always wanted to echo their teachings."

"Han said it to me," Luke revealed. "I never heard it growing up on Tatooine."

"He said it?"

"Just before the battle of Yavin. He didn't mean it. He was stowing his reward, and I was mad at him. I guess it was his way of saying he was sorry. Sorry he wouldn't fly with us, sorry I wouldn't survive the battle, sorry he couldn't care enough. He looked like saying the words was going to choke him."

Leia smiled weakly. "Lucky for us he choked on all that sorrow."

Luke grunted. "Yeah." The doorbell chimed. "Can't you do most of the talking?" he threw her a resigned, hopeful look.

Leia shoved him and he went to answer the door. She remembered Luke's disappointment in Han before the battle. Han stood on the hangar floor failing at saying goodbye, _May the Force be with you_ ; failing so completely he came back, and Luke had indeed survived and become the hero of the Rebellion.

 _And my twin_. She joined Luke in greeting the reporter, who of course recognized her but Luke simply introduced her as Leia. Luke explained she was here in an advisory capacity, and that she merely shared his vision.

Luke was to talk about the Force, but he needed to talk without the Force. Both Han and Chewie had made snide comments that he was starting to sound like Yoda, and he found his speech was clouded by the wisps of Force that surrounded everything.

Leia watched with interest as her brother took the spotlight. She was used to the presence of the media, and was raised to utilize it for a purpose that suited her. Even right now the presence of a photographer did not phase her. Reporters, photographers; they had been a regular presence in the palace at Alderaan. They served to document history and after a while Leia forgot they were there. It was like a one-way glass.

Luke was self-effacing and evidently nervous, but his attitude differed from hers. Instead of using the media to work for her, Luke was letting the media use him. He developed a rapport with the reporter that reminded Leia of two friendly neighbors, chatting over the fence.

She smiled in wistful pride for Luke. "Always learning," he was telling the reporter, who had asked what Luke attempted to accomplish with the interview. "I'm resolved to always be learning."

It didn't really answer the reporter's question. Leia gave him a pointed look. _Listen to the question, brother._ "We hope to be a bridge," she jumped in for Luke. "A bridge between the past, what we knew of the Force through the Jedi temple, and the future, what Luke hopes to build."

He sent her a grateful look. _Thank you_ , he said through the Force. _Don't let me do Yoda speak._ Leia smiled.

"Share with us your experience of the Force, what it is, how we lost it," the reporter prompted.

They all sat at Luke's small table. Leia had the same exact table, the exact same layout to her own rooms next door, only hers was flip- flopped; a mirror image. Her right elbow bumped the wall as she sipped her tea in the morning; now that same elbow hung off the edge and Luke's left elbow was the one against the wall. _The apartments are like us: twins,_ she mused to herself cheerfully. _Only conjoined._

As much as she loved Luke she did not want to be attached to him. Their Force connection was unnerving at times. She was only just beginning to know herself, to understand her own wants and needs, and the last thing she needed was her twin waggling his eyebrow at her in shared realization.

Leia sat back in her seat and crossed her legs. Luke's youth and affability made the Jedi of a generation ago seem stern and self-denying. _Maybe they were._

It was a lively discussion, one Leia would have enjoyed debating with her philosophy teacher at school. Does the Force exist because there is life, or is there life because the Force exists?

"It's part of life, and it is Life," Luke was floundering, trying to describe the Force. "It's like evolution and biology and religion all in one. Somehow, it existed. Before we did. And it was an essential condition that was in place when life formed. Like a certain amount of oxygen is a condition. And then it was more than a condition; it got in cells and bodies grew from it."

Destiny or responsibility; self-recognition or instinct. She wished she were at a table, with a bottle of wine and her friends, having the same conversation. She could almost hear it in her head; Luke espousing the concept of destiny while Chewie heralded responsibility. Han would have several examples of how instinct had saved his skin and everyone would point out ways his lack of self-recognition put that same skin in needless danger. She smiled softly again, half listening.

She sat in her apartment's twin, completely at home because being in one was like being in the other. Something was different about her and she tried to realize what it was. It wasn't her growing list of what she was no longer; Princess, Senator, resident of Alderaan. It was something else; something not as easily labeled. Whatever it was, she had a sense of being well-fed. She knew the feeling after a meal in her belly, but right now she had it everywhere. In her heart, in her head. _Harmony,_ she realized, noticing that her head and heart were not at war with each other.

The reporter stood and thanked Luke and Leia for their time. "Where will you establish this Academy?" the reporter asked as his colleague began to disassemble the photographic equipment.

"I haven't decided yet," Luke told him. "I'm narrowing down some locations. I'll let you know," he promised.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 _Luke and his mumbo jumbo,_ Han's thoughts muttered in his head, burning his cheeks red. _Don't blame yourself,_ the kid had the nerve to say. _Well, I won't. I'm not. How can I blame myself? I wasn't the one holding the knife._

Han tried to remember. How wide was the pedestrian corridor? In the Gaslight District walking with Leia it had been really wide. The two sides of the shopping areas had strips of pavement that connected them from across, the speeder traffic directed either below or above it. Citizen's Square was enclosed, and there was a solid, continual floor until you stepped back outside. The waiting area to catch a cab….there was a railing. It was quite narrow, and the railing made sure a being didn't fall of the edge. It would be a very long fall. Down here the railing was probably gone in most places. Corroded, even disassembled by beings who found better purpose for long, metal pipes.

Han closed his eyes, getting a mental picture. He backed up until his palm touched the slimy side of a decrepit building. He put one foot in front of the other, toe touching heel. Then another. He counted only four and the air changed. It moved; it wasn't as stagnant, lifting his hair, calling in his ears. Five, six. There. This was it. His skin prickled with warning. The edge.

He wasn't sure if that knowledge would come in handy but you never knew.

 _Don't worry Luke,_ he said bitterly under his breath. _I'm not going to fall of the edge._

 _I'm sure you have your own hell._ Is that why he was down here? Was it easier if you were actually in hell?

 _I just want to see if I can do it._ Why, though?

He didn't want to go back to this life. This one seemed nastier. Maybe it was because the first time he lived it he hadn't known any better, and you don't miss what you don't know. Now he had the _Falcon,_ he had Chewie, and he had Luke and Leia, at least until the moment when they realized what a big phony he was. Still, he pursed his lips, granting them their friendship, _they've stuck with me a long time now._ And he didn't want to be rid of them, far to the contrary. If only he could get rid of Maranya. That's what needed to happen. Maybe he came to replace one hell with another.

This one he could live with.

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Luke handed a steaming mug of kaf out to Leia. She was curled up on the settee, her legs underneath her, making her seem very small.

"Thanks."

"He said it would come out on the week's end edition."

Leia blew steam away. "That should get a larger audience." She grinned at him. "You'll be a household name."

"The Force needs to be the household name, not me."

"You'll get there, Luke. I liked your description of when you were ignorantly Force-sensitive. How things came to you in perceptions. I identified with that." Leia took a tentative sip, testing the temperature on her lips, and raised her eyes to Luke. "I bet you get a lot of applications based just on that."

Luke nodded earnestly. "I hope so. I'm not looking for just the Force-sensitive, either, remember. I'd rather they get to me on their own, instead of me traveling the galaxy recruiting. I don't have the resources the Jedi temple did. Plus, it makes it more of a destiny, doesn't it? Instead of being taken from your home? You have to make your own way. You learn a lot about the Force just in the journey."

"Like us."

"Yeah."

The door chimed again. The twins looked at each other. Leia's eyes showed a humorous glint. "The Force is not a fortune teller," she said crisply.

He smiled, crossed the room and threw the door open. "Hi, Chewie."

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His steps echoed just the merest. Someone was behind, trying to remain undetected by walking with his, but he caught on quick enough anyway. _How'd they find me so fast?_ Han wondered. _Hard to stand out in the dark._ He was curious what had given him away. Maybe he just added a new scent to the mix, since it was too dark to notice him by sight. Laundry soap on his clothes, shampoo in his hair.

 _How many are down here?_ It seemed quite the coincidence; pick any level, get found. _Luke would say it was my destiny._ He sniffed in scorn.

Why did one become a Lurker anyway? _Jabba's attracted the twisted,_ Maranya had said. _And you were there._ Did a Lurker feel they no longer fit on the levels that kissed the sky? _You were there, too, honey._ _Got news for you._ Had it been a gradual change for them, living close to the top in various stages of neglect until the darkness descended?

His adrenalin flowed. Outwardly, his shadow was loose, careful. Inside his pulse bounced and he was coiled, tense. _Fight or flight._ This adrenaline wouldn't be wasted, like it had when he first heard the news of Maranya's attempted suicide. This he could put to good use.

He moved to a building's wall and flattened himself against it, looking upward so his eyes absorbed some of that hazy glow of the living city high above. Then he looked back, and sure enough, he could detect movement. The merest shade lighter than absolute black.

They were shuffling along, one in a rolling, ambling gait, like it had a bad hip. Lurkers, survivors of forgotten Coruscant. _Til they met me._

Luke's voice was in his head. _I'm not the one holding the knife._ Han shook his head once, driving any thought from it except how to keep the Lurkers from discovering him. _Go away, Luke._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I'm a holostar," Chewie declared smartly.

"What?" Luke asked, incredulous.

Leia grinned and shook her head. "I haven't watched the holos in days."

Chewie helped himself to Luke's remote and activated the holoscreen. "See for yourselves. It'll loop eventually."

Chewie had set the channel to the all-news station. There wasn't as much breaking news as in the weeks earlier, when the planet was glued to the screen watching their Emperor battle, fearing the Star Destroyers in orbit, or postulating the coup participant's motivations. Now there were segments on intergalactic news and local crime reports, as well as the more idle gossip items.

Leia saw Mon Mothma on the screen, uninhibitedly reading a flimsi. A pang crossed her heart but it was over as fast as it came. She cocked her head at herself, wondering if she'd had an attack of agita. _That was an interesting reaction_.

She had tried not to think too much of the Senate and their deliberations and how she was no longer a part of it. She had been raised with the conceit and unapproachability of a title, but she was only human and now she had moments of insecurity and unworthiness. But they were just moments.

Not long ago, when she had soothed the _Falcon_ , buried under the crushing weight of the sand storm, she had told it _You've been cocooned. When the storm passes, you'll be beautiful and free and new._ Now she was the one undergoing metamorphosis. It was hard to be patient.

She did not like to be idle, and staying busy kept the negative thoughts at bay. She was eager to help Luke sort through details and legalities of accepting funds, but she also looked out windows, lost in thought, thinking about the beings below-level, knowing their lives wouldn't change while Interim Chancellor Mon Mothma read a flimsi in session.

"What brings you down here, anyway, Chewie?" she asked.

"I went to see Simple Girl. Han told me she was seeing visitors."

Leia uncurled her legs. She had been too comfortable. She looked from Luke to Chewie. "Did I miss Han? I haven't been to see Maranya yet. How is she doing?"

"You should go in the morning," Chewie told her. "I think she's lonely."

Luke flicked his brows up. "She's a lot of things. You _should_ go. We need to show our support."

"They brought in a translator droid for me," Chewie told them. "She was glad you weren't angry with her. She said Doc Brack was angry."

"Poor Maranya," Leia sympathized. "That was unfair, for him to show her that. I thought he was her friend."

"A friend would be angry," Chewie remarked, his eyes on the news items. "Next story, I think," he told Luke and Leia.

Both looked at the holovision. "I think," Luke said slowly, "she needs friends, but she doesn't know how to be friends."

"Mmm," Leia murmured, thinking she didn't know how to be a friend to Maranya either. That nagging thought, the one that told her the time Han spent at Jabba's made him a stranger, prodded at her each time she saw Maranya. Her unblinking stare, the strange things she blurted, her focus on Leia's hair.

Leia still knew Han; knew his loyalty and love and fierceness, but there was something new about him; something different, and he had come out of the palace with it. She was probably wrong, probably being unfair, but whenever she thought about what it was she blamed Maranya.

She shook the thoughts away as the holofootage Chewie promised them came on screen. "Chewie!" Leia exclaimed.

Luke held his hand over his eyes, laughing. "And Han went along with it," he commented. "I notice he didn't argue when they called you his Wookiee. What are you saying? Something about finger fur?"

"Nothing he says makes a difference anyway. They hear what they want, and they never hear me. So I told them to comb my knuckle hairs." Chewie splayed his fingers out. "I don't like those reporters. If this were Kashyyk, and they members of my tribe, I would challenge them to a fight, defeat them, and then spend evenings by the fireside as they plaited these hairs here." He rubbed over the knuckles of his fingers.

Leia lifted the fine hairs, testing their length. She looked at Chewie. "It must be so intricate."

Chewie shrugged. "It is what is done. So where is Han? I saw the speeder docked at the medcenter."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Since they thought they had his rhythm down he scuffed his boots, looking to touch something, staying close to the building wall. After his right foot dragged and scuffed it took a little longer for his weight to shift and bring the left foot up, and whoever was behind stepped sooner. Han sneered in triumph. Two steps and a growled utterance. _At least two, then._ It confirmed what the shadows had told him.

There was a lot of life down here. And desperation was here, desperation to remain alive. Again, he found his thoughts drifting to Jabba's palace and Maranya. The desperation reminded him of her. She'd do just about anything to be able to carve a mark on that wall one more day. She'd wanted to live so badly. _So what the hell happened?_ She had six years there and hadn't even given this world a couple of months. The contradiction in her motives was striking. _She wants to live there, in hell, but not up there?_

 _I'm not thinking about her._ He cocked his head a little, trying to listen. He had a feeling he just had an important revelation, unusual for him, but he knew he didn't have time to sort it out. I'm not getting sucked in down here. That's what the revelation was. He had his own determination to survive, and no one could make him play by their rules down here.

He needed to be ready. They would make their move soon. He carried a knife, but it was in his boot. The Liberator couldn't move through the city wearing a blaster. But he wasn't the Liberator down here. Just another sorry excuse for a life. He would feel better if he had another weapon, in case they got lucky and disarmed him.

He reminded himself of the things he had learned. The pathway he was traversing was slick, narrow, but unencumbered by litter. Six steps to the edge. They would know all that, too. He figured they were desperate, hungry. Blind, but so was he down here. He wasn't hungry. They wouldn't know that. In fact, they didn't know him at all.

He kicked something. A box, crate? The wall of it gave a little with his pressure, like maybe it was made of a tough cellulose fiber; not duroplast, but the box didn't shift. Something in it, then. He slid his ankle along its edge, still walking, slow, and heard two more steps behind. Maybe three. He passed the box, his ankle now touching nothing, took another step, and whirled suddenly, scooping the box up before his foot even finished the step.

Now he was facing them. _You gonna start this, Solo? You asking for it?_ Holding the box along the top edge, he pressed it to his hip and cradled it with one arm while he reached in with his free hand.

His breath came quickly, his eyes darting everywhere, seeking movement in the dark. _Listen for 'em._ He stopped walking.

He hoped nothing alive was in the box. _Nest of some sort._ He didn't want to think about what could be living in the box.

His Lurkers had stopped as well, no longer hearing his boots. _Come on, Solo, pull something out._ Even a nest had to protect itself.

His fingertips brushed it. Metal. Not slimy, like the rest of the city. This was cared for. The realization made him a little sad. It was important to someone. _The sand is important to her._ Maranya had something that was important. _Stop thinking about that._ She took care of the wall, carved her time. Similarly, someone cleaned this pipe, looked after it. It was a precious possession, held in a nest. So that its owner could bash someone's skull in.

He waited, holding his breath now. The pipe was in one fist, the arm raised. The box was balanced on his palm.

He heard a bracing intake of breath, knew they were going to charge.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I didn't even know Han had been here," Leia said, a little miffed he hadn't waited around for her to get back.

"He didn't stay long," Luke said. "He was kind of restless."

"I comm'd him," Chewie informed Luke, looking mystified. "He told me he was fine. He said -"

"Well, he was calming down. I think he wanted to take Doc Brack's head off at the medcenter, and he waited around for me, but he took off pretty soon after we left there."

"He said he was here," Chewie said. "When I comm'd. And that he would be heading back. I talked to him," Chewie looked at a chrono on Luke's wall, "almost two hours ago."

"Oh, he was long gone," Luke said smoothly and then stopped as a look of unease crossed his face. "No, Chewie," he denied. "You probably crossed paths."

"I am not so sure. When he left the _Falcon_ this morning he looked like he'd had a scare and needed to think. And Han never thinks. He goes off and does something stupid."

Leia was stuck on 'took Doc Brack's head off' and 'had a scare.' "What – you don't think – because of what happened? To Maranya? Because of what she did?"

"The only two who were mad at her because they've thought of it themselves and knew not to do it," Luke said.

"Luke!" Leia said, shocked and angry at his observation. "I don't th-"

"We're back at the beginning," Luke said. "Chewie, would you have any idea where he would go? Let me get my lightsaber. We'll go track him."

"Luke, wait," Leia stopped him. "It's not the same. It's not. We don't need to ….he'll come back."

Leia couldn't bring herself to say more as Luke bustled about his room, clipping his lightsaber to his belt and donning a jacket. The feeling of disillusion and unreality was too familiar. She watched him, the apartment appearing suddenly distant and unfriendly. No, her mind contradicted her heart. _He wouldn't. Not after all this. No._

"I'll need a light," Chewie said.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He dropped into a fighting stance, bracing for impact. _Wait, just wait._

He let his ears tell him where on the sidewalk they ran, how many more steps until they reached him.

When the time seemed right, he hurled the box. He had no idea how high his attackers stood, but he was lucky. By one's grunt of surprise he calculated he had got them right in the face. One more was coming, he was pretty sure. He kept his arm up high, thinking it was better to crash down on whatever body part he landed on rather than hit it from the side.

A squeal of pain. Felt like a shoulder, right against the neck. And then suddenly somehow he was down, flat on his back, and the pipe was rolling away. Instinctively, he bent his knees and flexed his feet. _Shit, there was a third._ The being, whatever it was, had thrown itself on him and was trying to grab his shirt, but Han's boots kept it from getting purchase. Han pushed upward with his feet as hard as he could, felt the soles sink into something soft. _Belly?_ Air whooshed out of the being's lungs. Han rolled - _watch the ledge, Solo_ – and brought the knife out. He rolled on to his back again, elbows bent. _I can do this,_ he said to himself. _This is what I came down here for._

Mentally gauging where his feet had been when he landed the kick, he stretched his arms out and waited for the Lurker to try again. Because he would. _Somewhere soft. Come on._

The knife made contact. Han's fist, curled over the handle, touched skin as the knife sank deeply and warm blood ran down his hand. Stabbing was never as easy as shooting; he didn't like to get blood on himself, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

It was similar to fighting the four guards in the room, very much like fighting the Gamorreans at Jabba's. _Why am I always in the dark?_

He stood up, panting, no longer sure where the other two were or if he was facing the right direction if he started running again.

_What the hells am I doing?_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"How far down are we going?" Leia whispered.

They kept going, and the darker it grew the more uncomfortable Leia became. The light from Chewie's hand lamp was the only thing that broke the darkness now. It cast itself out, revealing the lower levels, things the beings down here were not able to see. They saw broken things, torn things, mildew and bones. It smelled terrible. The beam of the lamp radiated outward, growing wider but dimmer, until it reached a point it could not penetrate, and it was like confronting a wall.

This was a world Leia did not want to know. She could feel the lives down here; hearts beating out of hunger and shadows and a weird kind of desire. The Lurkers down here were intent to wake up each morning, something she never even thought about. But their lust for life did not include any tolerance of another's. There was no friendship, no loyalty, no trust.

And Han had come down here? Even farther down than where they were now? Why the hells had he done that?

"Until we find him," Luke whispered back. He crept along behind Chewie, who was as sure of Han's trail as Luke was. He let Chewie keep the lead, knowing this was as much about the Life Debt as it was friendship.

"Are you sure he went this way?"

Luke turned around to look at Leia, the whites of his eyes glinting in the darkness. "You know he did, too. Don't you sense him?"

Leia didn't answer. She hadn't tried. If she sensed him, and he were truly down here, were they lost to him? "What if he doesn't want us?" she asked.

"Too bad," Luke answered frankly. "He'll get us one more time. And then I'll kill him."

His comment appeased her slightly. "I'd like a hand in that."

"Ssh," Chewie ordered. He led them down another level.

Luke shuddered a little. "What happened to these beings?" he asked quietly. "They're so hungry." Even with the Force at his side, he was glad to have Leia and Chewie with him. The Force was pure down here, but unbalanced. It was not at all like that cavern on Tatooine. The Dark Side flowed with base desires.

"Chewie described it when we first came, remember? As beings that fell from the trees," Leia said in a hushed voice to Luke. Chewie had said loved ones would search for the one who had fallen. _That's what we're doing,_ she realized.

She hoped they found Han. Even if he didn't want their love anymore. No one should have to live like this. The original orphans of the galaxy she had named them once, and as unreachable as these beings had become, she still believed that.

"Ssh," Chewie said sharply again.

"Doesn't the city take care of them?" Luke wondered in a whisper. "It's not like they're sealed in a vacuum."

"They can't have started out down here like this," Leia agreed. "Can you imagine anything more horrible, having to have your hopes taken, and your fears fed, until you become like this?"

"Stop talking," Chewie demanded.

"Fresh blood has spilled."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There were still two.

Han, wiped the blood of his one kill on his pants. _I can do this,_ he fortified himself. _I came down here. I can do this._

To prove what, he was no longer certain. _Sure, you're sly, you're a survivor. So what. You ain't that smart. Get the hells out of here, Solo._

He looked up. _Staircase. I need a staircase._ His lifted his head to the hazy glow of light in a brief moment of desperation. It was too dark. He'd never find one. Unless he went back the way he came. Through the remaining two Lurkers.

 _Hell. This is hell. Their hell, too._ He thought of Maranya, who tried to end her own version of hell. That's what they needed, that's what they wanted. _Only one way but up,_ he determined. _Well, there's down but I ain't going in that direction._

He bent his left leg, squatting deeply, hands loose at his sides. Silently, he gave himself a count-off, and pushed off on his leg, his right foot grabbing the pavement, arms pumping, sliding in the slime, head bent, bellowing like a Wookiee.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I hear him!" Leia exclaimed, a happiness in her chest that she identified him so readily erased quickly by a worry.

Luke stood away from Leia so he could activate his lightsaber. The pavement glowed in the resolute blue.

Chewie dashed away from them, and Leia watched the lamp bob with his movements.

"What is he going through?" She finally asked the question she'd been wanting to ask for months. Ask Han, and if he wouldn't tell her, then Chewie, or Maranya, or Luke.

Luke's mouth opened several times, as if there were any number of answers. "It's up to him to tell us," he finally said.

"Yoda speak," Leia said.

Luke smiled a little. "No," he said gently. "It's the truth."

Carefully, the pair picked their way along the pavement.

"You've had it too," Luke reminded her in that same gentle tone. "When one moment you're fine, and then in the next you think something and you want to throw up."

Leia's brow lowered in a frown. "More Yoda speak," she said again. Luke didn't answer. He picked up his pace a little, and she fell a step behind, his words slowing her down.

Had he known before he had the Force? she wondered. Because that described exactly what it had been like for her. _Exactly._ Why she never ate much. She couldn't. She'd be at table, and in some random conversation it would come up; someone's innocent connection with love and sex or family and home and she would drop her fork, push her plate away, and swallow bile.

 _We tried to make you whole,_ Mon Mothma had told her, observing Leia after her internment on the Death Star. _Fed you revenge and duty and leadership_. Leia nodded to herself. She had been broken. She'd never realized the extent. She had never discussed it with anyone but it had been evident to all who worked with her. What had brought her out of it? Time? Somewhat, but not completely. Time was like an injury turned to scar. The intense pain was gone, but the scar remained, and a memory, a sensation, triggered its return.

Compassion. _Solo made you fight and laugh and cry._ She had a lot of people watching out for her, and that was comforting. There were those who invited her to talk, or quietly remember, and there was that one contrary man who rebuilt her trust and made her feel.

She looked back on her past self with a loving caress, saw with such heartache her struggle. _Dear Leia._ It sounded like her mother talking, a voice from her past, immediately familiar, as though it had never left her. _You had such anguish, such despair._

_I love you, Mother. I loved you all, so much. I miss you._

_There is beauty in life and in death,_ her mother said. _In your life and our deaths, there is beauty._

Her mother had died before Alderaan. It was a death like death was supposed to happen. Not a murdered planet. Not desired, never, but her mother became sick and died of her illness. Leia and her father had grieved. Sometimes their grief carried them away from each other and sometimes toward each other. She and her father had their love for Breha in common, and slowly, together, they let other emotions besides grief fill their day. Gradually, they allowed themselves to love and laugh and fight again. Her father was as much the reason Leia was a Senator as she was.

 _Mother,_ she breathed. _I understand._

Leia looked back on her past self. She wasn't that person anymore. She loved that person; she felt sorry for that person. But she couldn't be that person anymore. As much as she wanted her mother, her father, her planet to be alive, they couldn't. If they were, then she wouldn't be Leia anymore. And here, in the dank, dark sub-levels of the city, were three beings who helped her be the Leia she was today. _I'm well-fed. I_

_want you to meet Han, Mother._

She scurried forward, realized the light of Luke's lightsaber was no longer visible. She had fallen behind. Carefully, she crept forward. She kept her hands out, in case she would be lucky enough to find railing. Down one level, as if waiting, was Luke's blue light, Chewie's lamp moving on its own. Was Han down there?

"Han Solo!" she shouted into the darkness. "I love you! Now get up here!"

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Something disturbed the Lurkers. Han risked a look over his shoulder, then tested them by snapping his head back to face them.

But he had seen it. A light.

The Lurkers seemed spellbound by it, as faint as it was. It bobbed and swayed on its own, looking like the little glow in a Corellian Lamp Fly's abdomen. He looked over his shoulder again.

All he needed to do was turn around, walk toward the light. He'd gotten turned around in the fight. He swallowed. He would still be walking, fighting, _lost_ , if it hadn't been for...he swallowed again. If it hadn't been for them.

They were always there for him. They said he'd rescued them time and time again. Chewie from slavery, Leia from the Death Star, Luke from the Tie Fighters, all of them from the Empire, and more; all those missions where he was willing to put life and limb on the line. His was just life and limb; he didn't think either would be missed. They put their heart out there. And they had saved him now how many times? _Saved_ him.

He spoke for the first time since coming down there. "That's my light, Lurkers."

The dead Lurker was underfoot as he made to turn around. His foot stepped on some part of his body; he didn't know where. Stooping, he groped until he had a good hold and dragged the creature to the edge of the pavement, just when his skin crawled with warning. Then he rolled the body off the edge, let it plummet the rest of the way.

Han nodded. One hell ended. He hoped the being found some relief.

The Lurkers reacted to Han's treatment of their compatriot. They started forward again, but slowly, lurching against the silhouette caused by the lamp, it's light growing brighter, their eyes focused on it. Han broke into a slow jog. He followed the light; followed a sound. The sound was Leia's voice.

 


	57. Chapter 57

The Life Debt was such a complicated thing, Leia thought.

Han had saved a Wookiee, and so had won a Wookiee; one he claimed he neither wanted nor needed. Chewie, saved by Han so Chewie could go home, could never go home. Han couldn't be free of Chewie and Chewie would never be free from Han. Chewie's thoughts became Han's, and Han had to think twice.

Chewie had descended to the lower levels, no thought at all of personal safety, to protect Han. _Not just to protect him_ , Leia realized. _To bring him out._ It wasn't quite the same as a rescue. Chewie had not known specifically Han was in any danger. _Although,_ Leia thought, hastening after them, _no one is safe down here._

She hated it down here. Her fright seemed to grow when they started their way upwards. Her alarm had certainly intensified when she'd seen first-hand what Han had gotten himself into. It was awful down here. Not just dangerous. Awful. Deadly.

It was the second time they'd gone after Han, and it felt very different than the time they left Jabba's palace with him. Then, he had kissed her hard on the lips, full of joy and memory. Here, she had left a confession of love to the dark, and she worried what would happen to it, left down there with the Lurkers. She thought it if didn't come out with her and stayed hidden in the dark than it would wither and die, or if it were discovered than it would be stomped out of existence.

Chewie led the way this time. He moved rapidly, noisily; shoving Han back up the stairwell; his large hands cuffing roughly about Han's back and head. His complaints, accusations and anger echoed in an almost unintelligible roar about Luke and Leia, making their way behind silently. Their journey back to the higher levels was punctuated by Han fighting back, either with his fists or words.

" _...this is the thanks I get?"_ Leia caught from Chewie.

"I think it is," Luke murmured in answer. "Like that pickpocket kid on Corellia. Han's too mad and embarrassed that he needed or even wanted help."

Leia shook her head marginally. That Han came down here….It was other-worldly, the air oppressive. She walked with a sense of disbelief, stunned to find herself in a distorted, deformed world.

"Do you know what happens to a Wookiee if they fail the Life Debt?" Luke whispered in Leia's ear.

 _"Leave me alone, alright?"_ Han's voice floated angrily down to them.

"What do you mean?" Leia asked. She hurried to keep up with the Wookiee's fast pace, afraid if she were too slow Chewie's beacon of the little light would leave her behind in the dark.

"If Han got killed, and somehow Chewie could have prevented it, is it his fault?"

"I don't know," Leia whispered back. "I just want to get out of here."When they got back up, maybe then Leia would consider Chewie's anger and the complexity of the Life Debt, but right now she was too preoccupied with listening for Lurkers, stepping through the grime, and fending off the chill of the soullessness of the place.

"I could see if an owner died, of old age, then the Wookiee might be able to go home."

"Maybe. I don't know much about it." Anxiously, Leia looked behind her. It was impossible to see anything. Luke seemed at ease. His lightsaber was clipped again at his belt and their was no tension in his voice.

_"I don't know what I was thinking and I wouldn't tell you if I did."_

"Knowing Chewie, I bet he'd see he failed to honor the life he swore to protect," Luke continued to muse. "He takes on so much of a burden. He'd blame himself, and he'd never go back home. Be extra rootless. No life to honor, not permitted to go home."

_"Don't you know by now? I'm sick of your shit, Chewie."_

A sliver of daylight appeared. They were nearing the top. _Light at the end of the tunnel,_ Leia thought in relief.

They came upon Han and Chewie. They had not been waiting for Luke or Leia to catch up, but rather were involved in a tussle; limbs and fur all a tangle. Han had dived at Chewie's legs, trying to topple him, and Chewie was pulling Han up by the shirt. They were yelling at each other, and onlookers passed, looking at the scene with amused or disturbed expressions.

"Yes!" Han shouted. "Yes, I was coming back, you godsdamned fur ball. You think I want to live there?"

"I think you wanted to die there," Chewie accused. He could hurt Han, really punish him, and he knew Han knew it, too. Maybe Han wanted him to, but just because he owed a Life Debt, it did not mean he gave in to the other's wishes. He dropped Han.

Han straightened, giving himself a shake, as if a blood-covered sleeve, shirt stained with green mildew and brown rust was normal attire. He glowered at Chewie a moment and then stalked off.

Chewie pursued Han. "How do you expect us to think? You took off once before. Don't tell me you planned on never coming back." His large stride caught up with Han.

"I always come back," Han retorted.

"That's true," Luke said mildly, just for Leia to hear.

"Then why didn't you say something?" Chewie demanded to know.

"Because I couldn't come back," Han said.

That hadn't occurred to Leia before. She had always thought in terms of desertion, that he was thinking of himself. But he had been sparing them.

She breathed the fresher air deeply, feeling much more sure of herself. Now she was ready to consider the things Luke had wondered about. "I think you're right," she told him, understanding Chewie's anger. "Han is the only home Chewie has. I think he was scared to lose it."

"You didn't expect us to come after you, did you?" Chewie persisted.

"That's true, too," Luke murmured.

"You didn't have to today," Han said.

"That's not quite true," Luke continued his commentary. The light top-level was in such stark contrast to the lower levels Chewie and Han were shocked into composure. They looked about self-consciously, and not wishing to make their argument public, tried to disappear into the crowd, walking agitatedly. Where they were headed, Leia had no idea, and she wondered if they had any.

"Han!" Luke called with his hand cupped to his mouth. "Go to my place! Wash up."

Leia lost sight of Han and Chewie, and she couldn't hear them arguing anymore, either, but Luke was sure of the way and she went along beside him, conscious of her feet on the pavement and still aware of what lay underneath.

Luke made a noise of disgust as they reached his rooms.

"What is it?"

He put his arm out, presenting the open control panel and the door off-track in disgust. "They broke my door. Tried to hot wire it, and then lifted it. Chewie must have done that part. Couldn't even wait." He made another noise of disgust and passed through the open door.

"At least they did something together," Leia offered, trying to play the optimist.

The holonews was on already. Or had Luke forgotten to turn it off when they left. The lamp Chewie had used to find their way down-level was on the table in front of the settee. Large, grimy Wookiee footprints showed Chewie had gone into the kitchen area, and Luke could hear water running.

Luke sat down on the settee and removed his boots. Leia had already done the same. They made their own dirty trails. He would have to get the cleaning 'bot in here. And call someone to fix the door.

"Chewie, can you or Han fix my door?" Luke called into the kitchen. "They frown on damaged property, you know."

The Force, his constant companion, stretched in a solid line from the kitchen to the 'fresher. "Han in the shower?"

From the 'fresher, to Leia standing at the window, out the window, around, up, along, connecting. The medcenter, Luke realized. It was his Force strand too, and Leia's that connected her to Han.

 _The medcenter, eh?_ he asked the Force. _I know why his, and hers, but mine, too?_ He brought Leia a drink and they sat on the settee together, neither of them speaking.

He stared out the window, contemplating strands of Force. The one that pulsed in front of them that traveled to the 'fresher was bright and strong. _If she just followed it, we wouldn't be here. Gods all know he can't see it. Two steps forward, one step back._ Another strand led indubitably out the window, somewhere specific.

Luke finally broke into the silence. "So, say you're a moisture farmer," he said, talking more to the Force than to Leia. "And you have a family. And you have some money troubles. What do you do?"

Leia's head turned to him in slow motion and the words dragged out slowly. "Find a way to get money." Luke didn't respond, his silence an encouragement for her to list various methods of earning money. "Get a second job, or send someone in the family to work. Go to a bank."

He nodded along with her. "But it's not enough. Or it doesn't work out. And they're coming for you."

"Quit the farm. Sell it." Leia could tell he was again going to postulate that it wasn't enough, so she added, "Leave the planet. Send the family away."

Luke nodded. "And if you run out of time? What do you do?"

Leia stared at him. "You pay the price," she said softly, in horror. This was a parable. The farm was Alderaan, the father named Bail, and the money troubles were the Empire, putting pressure on Bail for his revolutionary ideas.

"Exactly." Luke's blue eyes were definite. "You pay the price. You don't send your daughter."

She felt she couldn't get enough air. _Send someone in the family to work. But he loved me. Get the plans to the Death Star. My father loved me._ "Yoda speak," she whispered fragilely.

"How is that Yoda speak?" Luke actually felt like things were fairly clear to him at the moment. It must have been the physical exertion; climbing down however many levels- he hadn't counted- and then back up again. He had not tested his body's limitations since he battled the Emperor. The Force is physical, he reminded himself. The best way to access is when the mind is engaged with the body.

He saw that his speech had not been clouded with riddles at all when he looked at Leia, and that the term 'Yoda speak' for her had become a kind of defense mechanism. _She said it down-level, too, when I answered her question about Han._ Her eyes loomed large and haunted in her face, and it was clear his tale of the hypothetical moisture farmer had connected with her personally on some level.

"What are you doing to me, Luke?" she hissed. "Why are you tormenting me? You're my brother!" she cried.

"Leia -" Luke said in distress.

"What are you two talking about?" Han observed them from the other side of the room, rubbing is hair in all directions with a small towel. He looked uncertain, as if detouring to the shower hadn't stopped the conversation of how stupid he'd been to descend on his own to the lower levels, and was ready to accept whatever they were going to fire at him.

He felt like he'd just woken from a long illness, never aware he'd been sick. His soul was fragile, as if a medical team had brought him from the brink of death, but he was still weak and only beginning the path to recovery. His clothes were still in the auto valet, and he was shirtless and stood in a pair of Luke's pants, his bare feet and too many inches of shin showing in the poor fit.

Leia rose from the settee, her expression inward and troubled. "You weren't talking about me, were you," she said quietly. "But there's two of us."

Dazedly, her head moved back and forth. "I never saw it before."

Luke stood too and squeezed her hand. "I didn't either," he admitted. "That's why I see you, though," his voice trailed off in a mutter. "I thought it was because of him, but I see now it's you. Can I think about this?"

She gave a bitter laugh. "Please do. I'm going to my room."

"Wait." Luke tried to grab her arm. "Leia, don't. Let's talk -"

Han's head swiveled to follow her as she left. He looked at Luke, his brows up, asking a question.

"No." Luke shook his head. "Give her time. She'll tell you. But not in my pants. And fix my door," he ordered. "I'm going back to the medcenter."

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Han considered the best way to approach his partner. Chewie was sitting at Luke's table, raking his clean but damp fur with his nails. He wasn't about to offer an explanation for why he was down-level, since that meant he would have to think about it himself, and he didn't want to. He wouldn't grovel for forgiveness, either; that was not his style. Nor did he feel he had to offer an apology. It was his life and if he wanted to go exploring he certainly didn't need to bring a Wookiee along...He knew it was weak, even in his own mind.

"Hey, Chewie," Han approached his partner with a feigned air of casual indifference, deciding that pretending it hadn't happened would be the best method. He rested his elbows on the opposite side of the counter. "You think this excuse of an apartment building has a maintenance droid? I'm going to see if it'll lend me some tools to rewire that door panel."

Chewie looked him up and down. "Dressed like that?" He held up his hand, claws extracted.

So the big lug wasn't going to let him off easy this time. But his comment indicated he was glad Han had washed the ruin off his skin and clothes. "Yeah," was all Han said.

Chewie retracted his claws. "You've had lots of practice rewiring," he growled, referring to the job Han had left half completed. "Finish it this time."

"I'll need you to put the door back in the slot," Han told him.

The two looked at each other, and in silent signal agreed to move on. Chewie was not quite at the point of forgiveness and Han wasn't ready to offer an apology, but Han was asking for help and Chewie willing to give it.

On his way to locate a maintenance droid, Han reflected on the current turn of events. He was happy to fix the door for Luke. He'd do a better job than a maintenance droid. He and Chewie were responsible for breaking it anyway, and he understood that it was the price Luke was charging for pardon and apology. It was the kind of bargain Han Solo liked to make. _Definitely a fair trade._

But what had happened between Luke and Leia to factor Han completely out of the equation? He puzzled over it. He'd only caught the tail end of their discussion. Something had happened, something that took the pressure off Han. He was perversely grateful for it, but he felt guilty about it at the same time. Luke and Leia were both perturbed. It meant they weren't thinking about him, weren't mad at him, wouldn't yell at him, wouldn't force him to think, and that was a good thing, but they were at odds with each other and that bothered him.

His impulse was to go to her, make sure she was alright. But he'd done such a thorough job of messing things up that she was probably better off talking to the door knob.

Leia's cry to Luke had been full of anguish. It disturbed him that such depth of feeling, whatever had caused it, choked off her voice. It was like a bell, her voice. Deep, rich, it's tone held the air, a dangling sound wave, long after she had stopped speaking. He smiled to himself. Even when she was insulting him.

He'd heard her voice down there, beyond the Lurkers, beyond Chewie's lamp and the blue glow of Luke's saber. It's what had pulled him up, pulled him out. Chewie and Luke had lit the path to her. If she would do that for him...He did not want her voice clouded.

He looked down at himself, conceded Luke was right. After he changed his pants.

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The walls in these apartments were thin, cheaply built, and Leia could hear Chewie and Han working together out in the hallway on Luke's door. They were disparaging the shoddy workmanship. Apparently Chewie, while trying to refit the door in the slot, had managed to break off a chunk of plasterwork in the corner of the joist.

"Damn, you made it worse," Han grumbled. "No wonder there was plas-powder in the tool box. This must happen a lot."

"Once it's worse it can only get better," Chewie remarked as Han grumbled about the added work task.

 _If only,_ Leia thought. _If only._ She sighed. Why had she taken Luke's parable so personally? She'd run away from him. Obviously he'd been talking about Maranya. She was the daughter of a debt-ridden moisture farmer; not Leia. She was the one who should have been sent to safety; not sold as a sex slave.

She could offer one reason, a weak reason: Maranya made her uncomfortable. She was even uncomfortable admitting it. A young daughter, sent off to be raped for a living, to offer herself for rape. Leia shuddered.

Where Han had been. That particular thought made her so uncomfortable she couldn't even voice her thought coherently. It made her squirm too, made her thoughts veer quickly away. When she thought of him at Jabba's, she thought of a man who owed a Hutt a lot of money and was being punished. Maybe with imprisonment, maybe with death. It was simple. Just like the idea of going after him was simple. But then throw in the presence of Maranya, this unloved daughter of a moisture farmer, and his experience became much more potentially complicated in her mind. They hadn't just emerged from the palace tunnels with their friend; he had brought a vestige of palace life out with him, and it added itself to every aspect of the life they all tried to resume before he had gone. She could not understand how Maranya had lived through all that, could not understand again why she suddenly decided she should live no longer.

She had one thing in common with the girl. Two, maybe, if you counted her sexual assault on the Death Star. _It wasn't anything like Maranya's,_ she told herself. Her head answered harshly, _don't you dare discount your experience. It's not a contest._ She swallowed roughly, pushing down bile. She wouldn't let herself revisit that, either.

The other commonality was they were both daughters. Leia to two men. _Ha, how about that,_ she jeered. Two, one even worse than the moisture farmer. She'd win this contest. Anakin Skywalker was as bad as they get. But no. She blinked back tears. Bail was not a bad father. A father provided a safe, loving home, and Leia certainly had that.

But, according to Luke's parable, she hadn't been safe. She was a mold out of her father's eye, someone to think the same, someone to carry out what he couldn't accomplish himself.

 _You don't send the daughter._ Maranya's father should have been the one at Jabba's palace. Should Bail have been on the Death Star? _You pay the price._ Bail had paid a price; he had perished along with his planet and people.

 _I paid a price, too._ Yes, she had. She wound up being all alone, lost everyone and everything. Orphan of the galaxy.

Her father was Viceroy of Alderaan. He was the widow of ruler Queen Breha. He was the Father of his People. Did it mean something that he had more family than Leia? That he had a planet too? Leia's lips parted. She understood what had upset her so much.

Alderaan was like one of his children, his daughter.

 _You don't send your daughter._ Leia wept openly. He had not kept Alderaan safe. He had led it to its destruction.

It had been a while since she'd had the gulping tears of loss when thinking of Alderaan. She let them come, hoping Han and Chewie couldn't hear her out in the hallway.

She had lost her sister.

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Han knocked on Leia's door. He waited, feeling his shirt cool from the warmth of the autovalet dryer. "Leia?" He couldn't hear anything from the other side. He quirked his lips to the side. _I don't want to bust another door._ There was no one else in the hallway, so he lifted the control panel and entered 0019.

He nodded to himself as the door slid open. It hadn't been a guess. Leia was a traditionalist and a person of honor. It was the same code she used to her quarters on the various bases the Alliance had used. 0019 was her ode to her involvement in the war, her age when she was forced to start anew.

"Leia?" He poked his head in.

She was lying on the floor. His heart stopped a moment, Maranya's episode still fresh in his mind, but saw that her head was on a pillow.

"Princess? What are you doing?"

Leia tore her eyes from the speeder traffic out the window and bent her head backwards to see him. "I didn't hear you. You didn't break my door, did you?"

A conciliatory grin went up the side of his mouth. "No."

She returned her gaze back to the sky. "You guessed my code?"

Han waved his hand as if his answer explained all the mysteries in the universe. "I know you."

"I'll grant you that," she said without looking at him. "You know me."

"I totally expected to find you napping on the floor," he told her carefully.

He stepped by her knees, and he did not block her view out the window but added himself to the panorama. His clothes smelled clean, though there were some stains. His body was very long from her vantage point on the floor, his worried eyes looked to be flying as high as the speeders outside. He _did_ know her, she reflected. "Grab a pillow."

Han sneaked a look at her. Her mood was soft, almost resigned, and he was unaccustomed to it. She looked terrible, he thought, as he grabbed a pillow off her settee and went to join her on the floor. Her face was mottled red in places, her eyes swollen, and she sounded nasal, like she'd been crying. He didn't know where he stood with her right now, if she were holding his antics against him or if she was still trying to work out whatever had upset her with Luke. He resolved to try and accommodate her mood. After all, she - they - had ventured down-levels and her fright for him was because she'd been so damn frightened herself.

He settled beside her, his legs crossed at the ankles and his fingers clasped over his stomach. He too began to watch the traffic out the window.

"How are you?" she asked. He turned his head to face her.

His mouth opened, as if to say something, but he wound up taking a mouthful of air and then let it out, before finally allowing, "I'm okay."

She nodded. "You gave us quite the scare."

She watched in quiet amusement as he struggled to maintain this new, cooperative attitude. She knew him too, knew it was a reflex to offer non-answers. "Didn't mean for that," he finally answered, and it probably was about as truthful as he was going to get. She decided that if she could run away from Luke and come hide in here then she had to allow him the freedom to not answer.

That did not mean she was not going to ask, however. "Why did you go down there, Han?"

He wouldn't let anything pass his lips. She saw it on his face, a number of answers; some he thought might be clever, others evasive, some defiant, one honest. "I don't know."

"Why don't you think about it then?" she challenged.

Apparently he was going to try charming as an answer. "What's the fun in that?"

"You can admit it, Han. We all were upset about what happened."

He nodded. "That's not why I went down."

Leia sighed in resignation. "It spurred something. Something in all of us; you, me, Luke. You went down and I went up."

"That's why you're on the floor?"

He could tell she'd been crying, she realized. She shook her head. "I wanted to see the sky. I needed to get out of my head, you know? See the bigger picture. So I came to look out the window."

He nodded as if that settled it and they fell silent. _Are you afraid?_ she wanted to ask him. _Afraid of yourself? Afraid to be with me?_

"We're like this city, you and me," Leia told him.

Han wondered if he should fetch Luke. Leia seemed to be in the middle of a Force meditation, something way out of Han's level of understanding. He couldn't follow her paths of thought and 'Yoda speak' was on the tip of his tongue. He bit it back. "Huh?"

"This city." Leia waved at all the speeder traffic. " It's high, low. Exhilarating and breathtaking; base and foul."

"I'm not foul," he protested.

"I'm going to see Maranya later," Leia told him.

"OK."

"And you're coming with me."

He breathed a small smile. "Yes, Your Highnessness."

Her eyes started to flick, from speeder to speeder, aware of him next to her. He was a part of this too, somehow. She didn't know how he fit but she would need to answer that. _So, say you're a smuggler, and you're in debt to a Hutt, what do you do?_ She inhaled. At least he had made the right answer. "Han. Were you ever loved? Did you have someone to love you for a little while?" She saw his eye twitch. "Because without love I don't see how you aren't a complete psychopath."

"Who says I'm not?" he smiled. There had always been an underlying competition in their friendship. Both tried to push a button or nail a hit because it meant they knew more about the other person than vice versa. She wasn't trying to win right now, though. She wasn't offering a truce either. She was willing to share, to let go, but she wanted it from him, too. "I had a grandmother," he answered matter-of-factly. "She died. When I was a baby. I don't remember her. I just know I had her."

"But you know she loved you."

He nodded. "Yeah, somehow I know that."

"Love leaves a mark," Leia said. She turned her face to his and her eyes roamed over his face.

"Looking for the mark?" he asked.

Her smile was gentle. She could actually see the mark; she was more open to the Force than she normally permitted herself. She shifted to one hip and caressed Han's cheek. "I've been thinking of love, and how many forms it has. There's good love, and bad love, and wrong love." She shook her head. "Makes things so messed up."

Han frowned slightly. "Has this got anything to do with what Luke said?" He took her hand from his cheek and wrapped it in his own, placing it on his chest.

She felt his heart beat under her hand. "Not really. Well, yes, I guess it started that way. He was talking about Maranya's father, getting me to realize what he realized - that he didn't love her. Only now I see that maybe it was bad love. Or wrong love."

"It was no love," Han agreed with Luke. "I don't know him and I can tell he was a bad seed. He was Tatooinian - he knew Jabba, knew all about what he was gettin' into. And he sent his daughter."

Leia nodded. So he understood that much, forgave Maranya that. Probably because his own family had disappeared, too. "Maranya and I are sisters," Leia said.

Han turned his head sharply to her. "Like you and Luke are siblings? Now there's a third?"

Leia laughed. It was short-lived and ended with a bitter note, but she laughed. "No. Like she and I both had fathers who asked of us something they never should have, fathers who gave us up for something they loved better." She found her chin was trembling and fresh tears leaked out of the corner of her eye, rolling quickly down her cheek and into her ear.

"Hey, now." Han rolled onto his side to face her and wiped the tear away with his finger.

"I understand her better now. I didn't before, I never could." She shook her head. "I still can't fathom her life at Jabba's. It's just..." she trailed off, sensing that wall snap up in Han, and one in herself, too, if she were to be honest. "But she was waiting, Han. Waiting for her father. And now that she's seen he's never coming, after asking what he asked, just leaving her alone to it, she doesn't want to stay."

Han rolled to his back again. It didn't make him feel any better that Leia had gained some new-found sympathy for Maranya. It made him feel worse. He tackled a part of the conversation he could handle better. "What do you mean about your father? He what?"

"He..." Leia puffed air out of her cheeks, at a loss how to explain her meditation. "I don't know. It just hit me, what Luke was saying, that it could apply to me too. And I had never realized it before." She smiled weakly. "And I needed a place to go and cry. It's not the same as Maranya, of course. My father did love me, but he wanted me to be him, I think. Misguided love. And as a result he died with his planet, and I got left alone on the Death Star. I got left alone." She saw herself as she was in her cell, not as the bold prisoner who was ready to die to protect the Rebellion, which she was; but as a young woman, broken and hurt, curled up on a bunk, refusing to cry because her father asked her to die. _He didn't even attempt to send a rescue, did he. Gave me up for the cause. Gave Alderaan up, too._ "It was me," she continued her thoughts aloud. "I caused my own rescue. When I sent the plans to General Kenobi on R2."

Han was lost in thought about what Leia had said about love. "A daughter's love." He looked into her eyes. "It goes both ways. You wind up loving yourself, too. Or not. Or wrong. Anyway, you loved your father enough; enough to take on his goals, and he taught you to love yourself, so that you got word out, and you got rescued."

"A daughter's love," Leia repeated, feeling a glow inside her. It did go both ways. Han had given her an important gift. He hadn't endorsed her father, but he hadn't condemned him either. He simply had let her know it was okay for her to love her father. "Do you think Maranya loved her father?"

"I don't know." Han didn't want to think about it. He could ask the same questions about himself, shivering on the old factory floor without a blanket, scrounging for crumbs in trash, but he didn't want to. It made him angry to think about himself as a boy. He'd learned early on you couldn't rely on anyone but yourself. Maranya should have learned the same thing. Then she wouldn't have gotten them all in this mess. "If she did, then she stopped when Luke brought her to her homestead."

Leia nodded. A daughter's love. Outside the speeders continued their separate journeys. Each being within one had love in their life, somehow, good, bad, or wrong. Or none, like the Lurkers below. Whatever kind of love was possessed, it was everywhere. She saw it, between her and Han, from her to Luke, out the window, traveling around the city, connecting beings, good and bad. She wouldn't let her breath go as realization struck. "It's the Force," she breathed. "The Force is love."

"I thought it was something physical. Existence or something."

"It is," she smiled, delighted in her finding. "It's everything."

"You know, Luke's academy is going to be a bunch of Yoda's sittin' around a tree, all thinking. They'll never get anything done."

"That is perhaps the most ridiculous thing you've ever said," Leia giggled, thinking of a bunch of Yodas. "I see what he means by including those that aren't Force sensitive. Because it is a part of everyone." She thought of Luke, who while he looked for his father found several surrogates, and who never needed more than Beru's love. "We have our mother's love," she realized. "It must have passed in utero, because she died at our birth. See, love is physical." She tested out her theory on Han. "What about your mother?"

Han shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think so."

She remained undaunted. "If it's the Force, that means there's no good love, bad or wrong love. There's Dark Side and Light Side. And that's why," she propped herself up on an elbow, no longer feeling so laid out, "Luke's and my story is so big, so...what would you call it?"

"Loud?"

Leia screwed up her face. "Loud?" she repeated, considering and rejecting the description. "No. Why it takes precedence, why events have been dominated by Skywalkers."

"You mean when this is over you can live happily ever after?"

It gave her a thrill to hear him talk about her life after the war, after whatever they were waiting for now was done. He was curious about her ever after, as if he would travel through the future to see her at it. "Hopefully happy. I'll settle for balanced. And quiet."

"I hope you get it," he said.

Leia marveled that he did not try and make this a romantic occasion. He had let go her hand, and lay on his back, the reflection of the speeder traffic out the window like flecks of color in his eyes. Whatever had spurred him to go down also kept him from turning toward her. _Climb with me,_ she thought. She felt brave, even braver than the moment she brought Vader down. But that wasn't courage. That was something that had to be done. _I need to face my fears now. I can run away, and let him go, or I can take a breath and plunge down to wherever he is._

"I hope you're a part of it," she told him. Her heart began to pound but she wouldn't let her head say a thing to it. She brought her arm across his chest and tugged lightly on his shoulder.

He rolled towards her, his expression worried and wanting, hopeful and defeated.

"I don't want to love you wrong," she whispered, feeling fresh tears.

"Love would be nice," he said, emotion in his voice.

She nodded once before leaving his eyes, and wiggled down so her face was in his neck. He was right, she determined. Both were too distraught to make this about romance. It needed to be about love. She wrapped her arms about him and squeezed until she tired.

His answering embrace was just as intense. She felt his cheek and jaw in her hair, the press of each fingertip on her spine. Her thoughts traced the length of his body, and each time her mind intersected with him it was like it glowed in the Force, golden and strong. She put her foot over his ankle, linking him to her, and her tears wet his shirt.

The hum of the traffic, the smell of his clothes, the warmth of his body...she kept her eyes closed, the depth of her feelings in the past hours making her sleepy. _I can love you,_ she thought _. I can do it right._

Han's eyes stared at the brocade fabric of the pillow. Leia trembled underneath him and he knew she was crying but he made no move to stop her. He found the tears comforting somehow. He felt possessive of them, like they were his. But they were coming from Leia. Was he being cruel? Was it selfish of him, to want her tears?

He flashed back to the ruin of the Emperor's receiving room, when Chewie assumed the Stance of Burden and Leia had wept. She had cried for all those that had lost under Palpatine's reign, taking on their suffering for them, letting them know it was over. She was doing it again, for him, when she still had so much to grieve for within herself. He pressed his lips to her forehead, sensing she had fallen asleep. He lifted her leg with his ankle, twined it around hers, linking himself to her. _It's alright, Sweetheart,_ he thought. _Don't cry._

 


	58. Chapter 58

The dream began as it often did. Leia was roving the corridors of the Death Star. She was walking with her father, showing him the sights.

They had just left the garbage masher but her father had declined to go in. He hadn't wanted to get his clothes dirty. He walked beside her in thoughtful silence, his hands clasped behind his back, while she showed him her cell, and then the interrogation room. They were on their way to the bridge, so she could show him where she was when Alderaan was blown up. The corridor was gray, expressionless. Her father remarked that it looked so clinical. Leia explained it was practical.

It was tragic being with her father. He broke into tears on the bridge, and pointed out to her a specific spot on Alderaan, which somehow was still visible from the Death Star, the royal residence where Leia had grown up. That was where he had been standing, he informed her, when the Death Star's laser struck. He told her of the intense light and the searing heat of radiation and that that had been his last thought. No last breath, no curse to the Emperor, no uttered regrets, no farewells. It made Leia feel empty.

On the way back, and now their destination was vague, but Leia thought they might find the chasm she and Luke swung across, they ran into Han and Maranya. She expressed surprise at seeing them, and told her father she hadn't expected them to be back from Jabba's palace yet. Han tried to offer his hand but he was holding Maranya piggy back style, and he couldn't bring his hand forward for her father to shake. Han kept shuffling forward in tiny steps, but it would bring his and Maranya's body, almost like a large mass on his back, too close to her father, invading his personal space, and her father would shuffle backwards just as quickly.

Maranya held the Alderaanian Puzzle Gems.

"Wait, Han." Leia's voice echoed down the corridor. She tried to stop the girl from throwing the gems away, "What are you going to do with them?"

"Feed the Lurkers," Han said.

"But they'll explode. Won't it kill them?" Leia asked. Her eyes held the little gems in Maranya's hand. She wanted nothing more than to take them from her.

"I think it's what they want," Han said.

Leia argued fruitlessly with Han and Maranya about the use of the Puzzle Gems. "They're mine," she finally said.

"You're a princess," Han reminded her. "I'm sure you have your own." He and Maranya moved off.

Luke was waiting for them at the chasm, the grappling hook already tossed over and ready to swing across. "I'm Luke Skywalker," he told Bail Organa. "I was here to rescue Leia." While Luke swung with her father, taking his time to land, just swaying from the cable back and forth, he explained how beings could not deter the destiny of the Force. Luke told him how Leia's quick thinking sent the droids and plans to Tatooine, where fate found them purchased by Uncle Owen, leading Luke to Ben, to his father, to his sister. Her father then told Luke all about Padme, and Leia listened from her waiting position on the ledge, envious.

After Luke came back for her with a sad, knowing smile, they found themselves back on the bridge. Her father burst into tears again. Alderaan, destroyed yet whole, was tragically visible.

"Right here," Luke told Bail. "Leia watched right here." He pointed to it as if it were a place on a map, same as Bail had identified his own spot on the planet.

Leia stood nearby, her hands clasped at her front, waiting, listening and watching as if from back stage, as if Luke were introducing her before an audience.

"All she has is last thoughts and regret. She didn't experience it with her body, like you did, but with her heart."

"Oh, my child," Bail clutched at her, sobbing. "Oh, my child."

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Quietly, so as to make as little noise as possible, Han sneaked into Maranya's room. He barely fit through the door opening he allowed, and immediately turned his back on the room after he entered, his shoulders rounded, closing the latch silently. He waited a breath, to see if he'd been detected, and slowly turned around.

The bed, the largest object in the room, jutted out like an obstacle around monitoring equipment and a wall. Han looked at it through lowered eyes, measuring the path he needed to walk to it. Not a path really; this end of the room was clear, but it seemed far. A chair waited for him.

He took one step forward. Maranya was in the bed. He could see her slight form by the way it contoured the sheets. His mouth twitched in determination and he took another step.

Maranya was aware of his slow approach, one step at a time, and groaned inwardly. He took a seat. She didn't want to talk to him.

It might be he didn't want to talk to her either, she realized after a while. He made no venture of greeting or any kind of small talk. Just sat. Outside Maranya was aware of noises. She could hear beings pass her door in a rustle of quiet steps, and she could hear soft conversations. Inside her room, it remained silent.

Maranya's cuts were healing well, Han noted. Bacta bandages had been removed on the smaller ones and he saw a number of fresh-skinned, pink patches. The deeper ones still had bandages on them. Her hand, the one she had cut through a tendon, was splinted. Swollen fingertips showed at its opening. Physically, she didn't need to still be here. If that were all it were, cuts, she'd have been released already. She had wounds that couldn't be seen.

Maranya sulked. She didn't mind when Luke visited, and Chewie's presence was always soothing. The last people she wanted to see were Doc Brack and Solo. They were just painful reminders. Not just of Jabba's. Of everything. They had so much in common they couldn't be in a room together, couldn't talk together.

Irritably, she waited for Solo to say something. What was he waiting for, she wondered. For her? He was the one who had come in. She looked him over. His foot was jiggling, the fingers of one hand rubbing his lower lip, and his eyes were cast down at the floor. She knew he was tracing the speckled pattern of the floor tile. She had done it a thousand times herself. But he did not speak. She wished he would leave. _Coward._

"Did she make you come?" Maranya asked finally, ready to get this non-visit over with, guessing that Leia was the one who insisted Solo visit, even though she had yet to visit as well. "Is that why you are here?"

"No one made me," Solo answered resentfully. "Who is 'she'? Your counselor?."

"No. You can go," she told him. "Tell them I was tired. We have nothing to say for each other."

An odd look crossed Solo's face, like he was sad and angry at the same time. "Maybe that's your problem. Maybe if you said something."

She reacted suddenly, in agitation. She sat up quickly, her braced hand in the air while the rest of her jerked in the bed. "Not to you. You know it all, everything. Why I am here. That's why you don't need to be here."

Han glared at her."I do know," he said in a low voice. He waved his hand at her bed, indicating her wounds. "You don't have to tell me. Who else knows?"

Maranya shrugged listlessly.

"Your counselor? Doc Brack?" he probed.

She shrugged again and turned her face from him.

"They were angry," she said to the wall.

"Sure they were. They've been working hard, trying to help you, and you go off and do this."

"You said you knew why," she shot at him. Solo jutted his face forward a bit. "You miss it. Don't you." He nodded. "You miss it. You knew who you were. Everything was sure. No one worried about you, and now they do, which is like torture I know, all that responsibility, staying alive for them. And at the end was the rancor."

So he did know.

There was nothing to say. She couldn't meet his eyes. He didn't miss it. He said it was wrong all along; was the first to tell her her father was wrong. Doc Brack had never said that in all the time she'd known him. She'd been there so long she'd forgotten how fathers were supposed to treat daughters. _Jabba attracted the twisted._ Doc Brack was like her; he had willingly joined Jabba.

She had to say something. She was out of Jabba's, and it was all Solo's doing, all his fault that the rancor was gone and everyone was happy for her when they had no idea, no idea. She tried to say something positive, something she could parrot from her counselor, but even as she spoke she heard her own words stray from the given path, fall into darkness. "I'm here because of you. Everyone is so glad because of you. Everyone thinks I'm brand new. But I'm not. Here is new, but not me, and they think you're some hero for rescuing me," she told him. "You expect me to thank you and slobber at your feet for -"

"No." He glared at her, uncompromising. "You can't blame me for this."

"I don't miss it," she argued. What Solo said had a ring of truth. She wasn't supposed to miss it, and she didn't really; how could one miss being starved, beaten, raped? But still, she missed it. "This is all your fault," she accused, imitating his earlier gesture of sweeping a hand over the sheet, which hid the slash marks she'd inflicted. "All yours. Because you had to play the hero. You had to save the girl, who only knew how to sex and now she knows nothing -"

"You can't blame me for this," he repeated harshly. "It is not my doing. All I did was get you out of some place you should never be, some place that should never have existed -"

"It existed, and I was there. And now it's gone. And -"

"I didn't hold a knife to you. You did." Their voices were rising, rasping in fast staccato clips. Han heard it, but couldn't stop it. "Looking for the rancor, it's you, it's a coward's act -"

"You're the coward."

"- a selfish act. It's not all about you, you know. There's people who -"

"Like it isn't about you!" she snapped. "You'd be glad, wouldn't you, if it didn't mean that every night you saved me," her lips were twisted with anger, "meant you wasted all that -"

"Shut up."

"Your seed. Your precious seed -"

"Shut up. See, that's why you did it," Han jumped to standing, unable to contain a fury. He lowered his face to her and menaced, "'cause you have no fucking idea. It's not 'the seed'," Han's hands wanted to come together to strangle the phrase. "No one thinks like that, no one _talks_ like that -"

"Yes, all the time! At Jabba's!"

"There is no Jabba's!"

Outside her room footsteps stopped. Han knew the hostile tone could probably be detected out in the corridor. He half expected Luke or Leia, brimming with Force sense, to dash into the room in alarm. He barely reigned in his temper, wanting to choke everything Jabba out of her body, out of her head. If only that would work. He would want it too, if it would work on him. She was used to violence, so in some way she would want it. It's what she knew. She had tried it already, hadn't she?

Her voice broke into a vicious sob. He was no hero. "It's killing me," she howled. "Can't you see? It's kil-"

"What's killing you?" His voice was not kind. It was urgent, and insistent, and very angry. "What? 'Cause nothing is. Nothing. Just you. You're the one -"

"Shut up!"

It was loss. That's what the stupid counselor didn't understand. The loss of Jabba's palace, no matter how twisted, was a loss. Something she knew, something she had, something that was gone, forever. Like Leia with her planet. Only she was allowed to keep the memories, the way of life, and Maranya couldn't keep hers. She couldn't return and no one wanted her to. Solo was the rancor's claws. She hadn't attempted to kill herself; she was being murdered. Couldn't anyone see that? "I hate you," she hurled at him.

"That's all you say," he carped. "You hate me, I hate you. Which is it?"

Maranya didn't answer him. "Both, isn't it?" he said bitterly. He shouldn't have come. This visit was the straw that broke the bantha's back. He hadn't wanted to, suspecting he might blow, but Leia thought it might be good for both him and Maranya, and he owed her. He didn't owe Maranya a damn thing. Not a damn thing. She was far from healed. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if she tried something like this again and he told himself firmly not to care next time. "Yeah, well." Solo watched his boot dance. "I do hate you," he determined after a while.

He continued looking at his boot, his jaw working. Finally, he said, not looking up, "You know why I hate you? Because every fucking night – every fucking -" his eyes were dark with anger and for a moment he seemed overcome, "I had to. And you didn't fight. Not one time. Six years. And I knew I was getting out, going to fight, from the first moment I was there. You should have sent yourself to the rancor," Han accused. "That's why this," his hand took in her cuts. "You know it."

"I was twelve!" Maranya argued back. That was one thing she had come to understand in her counseling sessions. That she had been a mere child, anxious to please her father, to behave, to obey. That was the nature of a child. She, to her own discredit, had adapted to slavery easily. That was why she had lived so long at it.

"I was willing to die if I lost the fight. You weren't – that's what I hate. And I hate that you're the one," Han continued incoherently in a blistering voice, "it makes no difference, if it was never you or a hundred thousand for each night I was there, it was you."

Han felt like his tongue and brain were at odds were each other. He had an idea, a thought, but he couldn't bring it all the way across his lips. It stumbled before it grew to full expression. And all the while he was aware there was a terrible tremble in his voice.

What was he trying to say? That he should have left Jabba with the blood of all the slaves he refused to sex on his hands? Their terrible lives ended more terribly, and because of him? Was he worse off that he kept one girl alive, spared all those others, because he, because he – And what the hells was it? It was called sexing at Jabba's. Showing seed, that was the purpose. Show that a body was used physically, sexually. Maranya was the sex slave; she had done the sexing. He hadn't wanted a damn thing to do with it. Except for the fact that every morning when they came to check, there it was….. _gods fucking damn it!_

He put his face in his hands. "I do hate you," he said, his voice muffled. "I hate you so fucking much."

Maranya said nothing. The declaration was painful to hear, another slash, and yet she welcomed it. It was the truth. It took the act of a rancor to finally get the truth from this man.

Her counselor was stupid and didn't understand. Her counselor had tried to point out the position Solo had been put in, to have some empathy and sympathy for him. But Maranya saw no reason for it. Anyone of the girls that could have gone to the rancor because of Solo were sex slaves. They were alive, and that's what they did; they sexed; and if they failed then the time came for them to die, which it would, eventually, even for Maranya. And then they went to the rancor. That was life and that was death. There was no other. And here was Solo, bemoaning they would have died when of course they would have died! Same outcome whether he was there or not, whether he was sexing or not. And he resented her for being the one to sex.

But he was a man, just a man. She sat back against her pillow, self-righteous in her realization. Sexing came so easy to a man. Easier to sex than to let die.

Han leaned back in his chair uneasily. He had just told a girl, a girl filled with so much self-loathing she'd try to kill herself, that he shared in that loathing.

"They would have died anyway," Maranya said glumly from her bed. "You weren't saving anybody. Not even yourself."

Han got up and walked out.

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Luke looked down the corridor and hailed Doc Brack, who was walking, a hand in his work coat pocket and his eyes toward the floor. A cloud of preoccupation and self-absorption followed him.

"Oh, Skywalker," Doc Brack almost collided with Luke and excused himself. "I didn't see you."

"Hi, Doc," Luke said at almost the same time. "They told me you'd be down here."

"Sorry." The medic made a vague gesture. "Been a bit preoccupied."

Luke nodded. "That's understandable," he said. "How are things?"

"Well," Doc Brack's eyes flashed with something for the briefest moment. Then he quickly asserted control over himself. He repeated his gesture. "Busy. Upsetting." He looked at the droids and beings in the corridor walking past him and Luke. "I wish I felt on the inside what they look like on the outside."

Curious, Luke assessed the medcenter from Doc Brack's perspective. Beings were walking, most not in a hurry. Droids rolled or stepped, quiet and efficient. The atmosphere was ordered, methodical and systematic. "You feel more like a patient does," Luke guessed. "One in particular."

"I don't feel like her, but my thoughts are certainly with her. I can't quite seem to shake this business with Maranya," Doc Brack admitted.

Luke gestured with his arm held out and the two men began to walk together.

Leia watched them approach. Doc was working apparently, making rounds in one corridor, because she knew Han was visiting Maranya in a different wing. She could feel Han. For a person with no ability in the Force, he kept himself well guarded, and they had very little sense of what he'd been going through since Jabba's. Nor did he want to talk about it. _Maranya knows,_ Leia understood, because he was not bothering to hide it right now. She could feel Maranya, too. It was difficult to separate the emotions. Who had the anger? To whom did the despair belong? She felt her own insides twist with anxiety.

"Han is visiting her now," Luke told him. The medic raised his brows as Leia caught the tail end of their discussion.

"She was pretty certain he wouldn't come," Doc Brack remarked. "But you know, it was all Jabba's doing. He's got no right to be angry with her."

Luke knotted his brow, puzzled. "I don't understand."

"Well, of course you wouldn't," Doc Brack admonished. "You weren't there. Even I wasn't there, not like that." He checked his chrono. "I've got patients to see."

Luke was still confused. "I thought you were the palace medic. PM 7."

Doc Brack nodded vigorously. "Quite right. I was one of the few, the very few, to whom Jabba provided something, in exchange for my services."

"Spice," Leia put in.

"Yes." Doc Brack gave her a sharp nod. "I wasn't about to leave. Not on my account, and not on Jabba's either, but my life was fairly…it didn't hang in the balance every day, like theirs."

"You were going to say normal," Leia said. "Your life was fairly normal."

Luke put a hand on her wrist. Maybe Leia hadn't meant to attack, but Doc Brack looked wounded.

They weren't aware Han had returned until he dropped into a seat several down the row from Luke and Leia. His face was stony, and he glowered at them. The siblings exchanged a look.

"Going to join us, Han?" Luke asked.

"Leia," Doc Brack whispered with bowed head. "Gods help me but I see it that way. I had a bed, I ate, I moved about freely. I worked as a medic, tending to the sick and wounded. The only difference between there and here was one," he held up a finger, "I was high, and two," he raised a second finger, "the medical decisions I made involved the rancor instead of administering a cure."

Leia was stricken with horror. "That's a huge difference. Don't you see that?"

Doc Brack struggled for control. "Sometimes I do. I get glimpses. Flashes. And then it leaves and I defend myself all over again. This has been very hard work," he told Luke and Leia, an agony in his eyes. "I'm not out of there yet and I know Maranya isn't, either."

"You gave them death instead of life," Leia persisted, trying to give Doc Brack a flash of comprehension now. "Death," she pronounced distinctly to him. Luke's hand was on her wrist again.

"Han said the way she," Luke kept his voice low. He didn't want Han to hear his name invoked in their conversation. Sometimes his distant and obtuse friend was so transparent. " – the slashes – he says that's what she was doing," Luke provided. "It symbolized the rancor."

_The rancor_ , Leia wondered. _What is it about the rancor?_ Yes, that was what she had sensed. It had been in the room when Han was with Maranya. She glanced worriedly at Han. One of them, or both, wanting to devour in a violent hunger, aiming to cut down, desperately seeking escape.

"I hadn't thought of that," Doc Brack said thoughtfully. "Of course he would know. But yes, I see that now. Hmm."

"What do you mean, 'of course he would know'," Leia asked in a scathing voice. She had a view of Han out of the side of her eye and saw him fold his arms across his chest and slink down in the seat a few inches.

Luke put his arm on Leia's again. He also sent his eyes to Han, who was stonily pretending to not hear the conversation.

"Well, for the slaves," the medic explained, "the rancor was their destiny. Death and the rancor – they're the same. For someone like Solo, a Punished, it was a little more complex. The rancor could be their destiny, but it might be their enemy, and just as likely, an ally."

Leia was stupefied. She was looking at Doc Brack like she'd never met him before. "I don't understand what you're saying."

The medic shifted feet. "I've got to get back to work, I'm sorry." He turned to Leia. "Jabba used to say that the crime syndicate he built could only rise out of the sand on Tatooine. That the suns burned away will and the sands turned convention into dust."

_The sands_. There it was again, Luke thought. The desert had not left him. They were in the medcenter for three humans who had spent a good deal of time in the sand, and none had come out unscathed. Luke idly watched Doc Brack rejoin the flow of beings down the corridor. "He's struggling,"

Luke remarked to Leia. She nodded in agreement. "And his transition was easier. He's still doing what he knows, he's got synthetic Spice to help with the addiction. He had less of an adjustment than Maranya did."

"Maranya doesn't have the sand anymore," Luke mused.

Leia looked at him. "Does she need it?" she asked. She remembered the time Maranya had talked of her life on base, animated only when describing the game she liked to play in her bed, burrowing under the blankets. _She must have done that in the sand,_ Leia thought. She hadn't picked up on it.

"Yeah," Luke answered softly. He glanced again at Han, who didn't want the sand, didn't need the Spice, and who looked miserable. "Han, get over here," he called.

Luke had not left the desert, either.

Han made no move to join them. "If you won't move then I guess we'll have to come to you." He gave Leia an emphatic look and together they rose, moving down the row to take new seats on either side of Han.

Luke crossed an ankle over his other leg while Leia sat at an angle in her seat, her body turned to Han. "You had a tough visit?" he asked Han.

Han shrugged. Leia put her hand on Han's forearm, copying Luke's gesture of steadying her against Doc Brack.

Early in her and Han's acquaintance it was the only place she could touch him, and only him. He was a man, and the Death Star had gashed an invisible, yet deep scar in her psyche about men. It was men who had ruined her, body and soul.

Yet she escaped the Death Star with two men. One, Luke, she barely saw as a man. Oh he was, she knew that, but he had arrived in her cell so completely and totally on her side, in awe of her, in support of her. _He's always been my brother,_ she realized. He loved her so harmlessly she could even peck him on the cheek. The other, Han, confused her with his reluctant heroism and complete bravery. His entire physical essence set off alarms in her heart while her head was calmed by his complaints and demands for payment. During the rescue, she had dared try it, her fingers reaching for him. She found his arm touchable; virile yet unpretentious. Her head maintained her facade with a well-placed insult, and Han reacted correctly, unaware he was being tested, rolling his eyes and grumbling. But she was safe there, a battered woman who lost faith in men. Whenever she needed it his arm was there, firm and true, and gradually she was able to reach higher, touch more, touch more often.

It was Han now who needed her touch. She only placed her hand on his arm and did not look at him. _Steady,_ her caress told him.

Luke continued, "I told you she looks to you to figure things out. But she can't get anything from you." He shifted his body to try and face Han. "She blames you for this, doesn't she? For feeling the way she does."

Han grimaced. "Is that what that is? Is that how I'm supposed to take her?"

"She's so lost," Leia said.

"It's like she wants to undo everything," Luke mused. "She's throwing sand in everyone's faces so they won't see."

_Sand,_ Luke contemplated. _Sand is so many things. A weapon. A desert. A fortress. It was my home. And I introduced to it everyone._

He thought about how his friends viewed sand. Leia had a time piece, he remembered, filled with sand. It was an Alderaani relic. He didn't remember where she'd gotten it, but she treasured it. Sand was captured in it, little grains squeezing through a tube, emptying at a specific rate. Then it was flipped over, and it started again. That fit Leia, Luke thought. It was all very controlled.

Yoda hated sand, hated the whole planet. Luke grinned grimly to himself in memory.

Chewie found it barren; miles and miles of land, nothing able to grow in the sand.

And Han? What did Han think of sand, Luke wondered. He first met Han on Tatooine, in a dark cantina with sand for a floor. They did not talk of the desert, just how much it would cost to leave it.

"The sand keeps coming back," Luke told Han and Leia. The two looked at each other. Luke knew they both thought he was stating a riddle.

Han raised his brows and Leia cocked her head. "Sand?" she prompted.

Luke nodded. "When we first came to Dagobah," Luke began, thinking it was important somehow to direct his words at Han, "I kept seeing the sand. I didn't know why at first. I thought, since I was learning the Force, I was learning about myself, you know? And I came from the sand." Luke paused, remembering his time in the swamp, the physical sensations of his boots running in the peat, the splash of water. The Force had come to him like little droplets of water, and at first only when he was physically engaged; warmed up. It was just snippets of sensations while his body tirelessly ran, his breath even and regular. Now the Force was in him all the time; he didn't need to be warm. He missed it; that feeling of physical power, the use of his body, and pledged to himself to regain it. "It was like I was swooping over the desert," he related, "almost like I was a Feathered Sand bird."

Next to him, Han snorted under his breath and Luke smiled, getting exactly the reaction he wanted. "I saw my homestead, and Ben's, and I saw," in his mind's eye Luke swooped, like a bird, only a shadow over an endless sea, "...sand. Sometimes it swirled around in a tempest, sometimes it was just the shape of the dunes in the desert.

"I didn't connect it with you until much later. We'd been on Dagobah a while, and while I was learning the Force it was always hanging over us, what happened to you. And then one day, it hit me. It was you. The Force was showing me where you were.

"I thought I was done with Tatooine, when we got you out and the storm cleared," Luke continued, while Han and Leia listened intently. "The other night, walking with Chewie, I don't know how many times I brought up Tatooine. I know why you bring up Alderaan, Leia. I never hear you bring up Corellia, Han."

Next to Luke, Han shrugged slightly, as if defending his lack of connection with the planet of his birth. Leia squeezed his arm.

"I'm going to take her back to Tatooine," Luke said quietly, looking at the floor.

Leia leaned her head down, as if trying to burrow up through his lashes and look into his eyes. "You are?" she said in surprise. "Maranya? Bring her to live?"

"Yes. It needs to be Tatooine." It was there all the time, Luke realized. Thoughts of his aunt and uncle, the joy of market days, the Sunset Breeze. He'd even buried his father's light saber there. He couldn't let go of Tatooine. He lifted his eyes and looked steadily at Leia. "I'm going to build the academy on Tatooine."

Leia's mouth was open. She felt tears, dismay, excitement all at the same time. "I thought you said you hadn't decided."

Luke smiled gently. "I just did."

"Because of Maranya?" Leia leaned forward, as if she needed to anchor herself to her seat after Luke's pronouncement. She felt dizzy; the lobby whirled.

Things were now in motion. Luke was moving. Moving forward and away. Would Leia start to move now too? _All this from sand._ As she looked to gauge Han's reaction she remembered his ship completely encased in sand, the power and enormity of the storm, while their tiny lives moved about inside her. She moved from sand to swamp, saw his ship resting carefully on a small spit of solid ground. There she was, hacking Dagobah vines wrapped around the landing thrusters. In flight, going nowhere. Kwilaan, Corellia; not really a detour but they weren't a destination either. Red herrings, distractions.

Han was just like her, she realized. Like her but opposite in treatment. He was adrift. _All these years_ , she thought. No one to inspire him, to finish him. No father's love to sculpt, to shape what he would become. _While I was tethered,_ Leia affirmed to herself. _Titles, roles, maybe sculpted me too soon. But essentially we are the same._

Everything was a circle. A father's love, a child's love, feeding the other, making each grow. Father, Leia thought, thinking of her dream. There at least she was able to come to an understanding with him. That would be all she ever had. _I access the Force in my dreams. Maybe I met him, like Luke met his aunt and uncle._ She wanted to believe that. Luke's sense touched her gently, following her direction of thought. She cast her eyes up to his quickly, communing.

Did she want him to go? Would she be alone? Contemplating their imminent arrival to Sullust, his departure had set like a stone in her gut, causing a leaden resistance. Now the Force swirled within her, Dark and Light, a mixture of emotions. There was sadness, certainly; sadness they would be going their separate ways. She was envious, even jealous; she had to admit it. Luke had a new-found focus she'd never seen in him before. She felt love, and such pride. Her pride and love countered the jealously and envy.

Luke was with her all the way, lighting on her emotions, like an insect gathering life-forming pollen. He weighed her feelings, the good and the bad, and when the scale tipped in neither direction he smiled at her.

"Tatooine," he said again, awed. "The planet itself is struggling to survive under the suns; the whole place is about survival. The basics." Tatooine was as primitive as the Force itself, Luke saw. And it was so pure. Conditions were so harsh that the planet was able to resist being altered by the beings who settled on it. It was the beings who wound up being affected. Jabba had built a criminal empire on the sand because he understood survival so well.

"I bet I can take over Jabba's palace," Luke wondered aloud to Leia. "It was a temporary base, right?"

She nodded. "Yes. Just until the space lanes were cleared of pirates and slavers."

He wore a half-grin, nodding slowly. "I'm going to Tatooine." It felt wonderful to have made the decision. He turned to Han, who hadn't reacted outwardly, tempering Luke's enthusiam. "What do you think?"

Han pointed a thumb at his chest. "Me?" he asked. "You're the Jedi Master."

"But it all started with you," Luke said. You're the one who brought me back to Tatooine -"

"I brought myself," Han said stubbornly.

Luke bobbed his head tolerantly. "- because of what you instigated, the Force has led me there." He straightened, realizing something. "Present are you!" he exclaimed, a goofy smile on his face.

"I'll give you something," Han threatened vaguely. With a jolt, he saw how the Force had not really changed Luke, just made him ... _more_. He was still the same gentle, idealistic, forgiving farm kid that wanted to change the galaxy Han remembered, but the Force added some new dimension, of a galactic proportion. Chewie would have some apt expression for it, Han mused. Something about tending the seed. Leia was right; the Force was love, because that's what had always qualified Luke, and now he was just magnified. Han opened his mouth, almost about to philosophize to Leia some more about the Force and love, a friend's love, and then he caught himself.

Luke was continuing his own train of thought. "I need transport. How much would you charge to take just a couple of passengers to Tatooine?"

"Ten thousand," Han answered automatically. "No droids, and I get to ask questions."

Luke smiled. "I could almost buy my own ship for that, you know," he said.

Han's head moved back in a silent grunt of laughter. "Yeah? Who's gonna fly it? You? Got a license?"

Luke chuckled openly. The two men often played variations of their conversation in the Tatooine cantina when Ben Kenobi negotiated with the Captain for passage to Alderaan. They no longer had Ben as their foil, and neither's first impression of the other had been favorable. Han thought Luke was petulant and spoiled; Luke found Han dismissive and scornful. But first impressions were sometimes wrong, and their meeting had left a lasting impression. That was what was important. Reminding each other of their introduction, when they were strangers to each other, was the way Han and Luke confirmed the bond of their friendship.

"I'm a retired flight Commander," Luke laughed. "You bet I could fly it."

"You don't have the old man to swindle me," Han said. "How are you gonna pay?"

"Ben didn't swindle you," Luke protested gently. "But I've got a backer."

"Ah." Han sat up and uncrossed his arms. He did some mental math, calculating fuel costs and distance. "Eight thousand, then. All in advance."

Luke stuck out his hand. "Deal. We'll leave when she gets out. I'm going to tell her."

Luke left Leia and Han side by side. _We've switched,_ Leia realized. It had always been Leia that needed to touch, who was barely holding herself together, who was bolstered by Han's quiet strength. He wasn't really falling apart now, she considered, but at war with himself. What he thought he knew and what he thought he'd become. _Solo made you fight and laugh and cry,_ Mon Mothma had told her. Yes. Leia, survivor of so much, orphan of the galaxy, saw what a patient tactician he'd been over the years. _How long has he loved me? Luke has always been my brother, and I think Han has always loved me._

Smiling, but not wanting Han to notice, Leia kept her head straight ahead. He didn't know it, but he needed her. She would be patient and she would be strong. She slapped her palm on his leg, upward facing, and waited for his hand.

Han did a slow motion double take. First he looked first down at her hand, then at her face, which looked satisfied and knowing and happy, then back at her hand, before placing his own on top of hers, lacing his fingers between hers.

She wouldn't let him ask. Instead, she called his attention to the corridors radiating off the center of the waiting area. She counted out loud, pointing with her finger. "Twelve," she told Han. "What part of Palpatine's residence is this? I know we're low down. I bet he took over this, whatever it was. Do you see?" she gestured out at the corridors. "There are twelve. I bet it represents the core planets."

Han didn't find it as interesting as she did. "Probably dates to before the fall of the Republic," he said.

She nodded. "I'm sure it does. It's fitting. Palpatine took over some part of the Old Republic for his own uses, and now we've taken it over again. That's exactly what Luke is doing, isn't it?"

Han heard excitement in Leia's voice. He only nodded, figuring she was on her way to some discovery and she would let him know. Just like what she'd done on her floor about love. He closed his eyes, so she wouldn't see his eye roll of begrudging admiration. She and Luke...he was barely keeping up with them. _It's a good thing they're twins, he reflected, cause then I know this brilliance runs in the family and I don't feel so stupid._

"Balance." She twisted her neck again to look at Han. "Little by little, balance is being restored. Even on Tatooine." She beamed at him. It was a quick discovery, apparently, Han thought wryly. "Present are we," she joked with a smile. He couldn't help but smile back.

 


	59. Chapter 59

"At least eight are available tomorrow, so I've been told," the Fellowman reported. "There's an hourly rate, but if it goes over six hours, we'll be charged the per diem rate." The Fellowman eyed Leia. "I wasn't sure how long we'll need them, so didn't commit. Do you have any idea, Your Highness?"

"Leia," she responded automatically, crossing out an entry she had made with her stylus. Sometimes a Fellowman called her Your Highness as if that were her given name. Others had to stop and think, rifling through what she was and what she wasn't. They were used to Senator but couldn't use that anymore, she was by birth a princess, but was she Princess anymore? While she wasn't having one, her colleagues seemed to be in the throes of an an identity crisis when it came to her.

While she sat in meeting, she decided to have them call her by her given name. Leia. She was an orphan of the galaxy, and she didn't need a title, except for the one they all shared.

"Also, the fleet does have pilots, but that will involve an additional charge."

Leia nodded, frowning at her data board while the member for the Committee of the Displaced droned on about the costs. Another began to express concerns about the execution of the project.

"...perhaps it would be better to round them up, coerce them to come..."

 _Round them up?_ Leia repeated in her head. "Round them up?" she said aloud. "Fellowman, forgive me, but that sounds like collecting them for a purpose. I see the intent of your plan, but," she shook her head, "that has such a negative connotation. Like they are dissidents. We only want to feed them."

"We won't use that term then. Coerce? Do you like that better? I draw the line at invite. Lure."

"Coerce is just as bad as lure," Leia responded. "It's what you do to a wild animal to trap it."

"They are dangerous. There's a reason the city doesn't provide food."

"No, no there's no reason the city does not provide food," Leia answered smoothly. "That's precisely why they are dangerous."

The Fellowman, a Bimm of whom Leia heretofore had not suspected such prejudice, opened his mouth to object, and several other committee members jumped in.

Leia followed inattentively, scrawling with her stylus on her data board.

_Galaxy? Galactic?_

_Orphan-_

_Intergalactic?_

The Committee for the Displaced was put into effect when the Alliance had its first unofficial non-military victory, claiming the space lanes back from Jabba the Hutt. A number of slaves had been freed, not just from Jabba's palace, but also from pirates abducting shippers and selling them off as slaves. The committee had done a fair job of physical and mental health assessments, relocation, and reuniting victims with family. Efforts were now being stepped up, which gratified Leia, as the rebellion came to an end and world systems shook off Imperial dominance.

The committee fellowman members were made up of a number of different species, all, Leia saw, from worlds where oppression had not been a problem. It was how the committee was able to form in the first place, but now that the war was over, she could see how the committee was gaining a reputation of a charitable, helpful agency rather than a policy-making agency it needed to be. Added to the problem of how they were regarded was distinguishing the line between Imperial oppression and accepted cultural and societal norms. A prime example was the Lurkers.

Leia's conscience could not rest, knowing that as she ate, slept, laughed and cried on the upper levels of Coruscant that a group of beings existed in a violent state of chaos just a hundred feet below her rooms. These beings had once been members of Coruscanti society, residents of a thriving city, who, when their good fortune failed, found their city unwilling to lend a helpful hand. Instead, the city seemed more inclined to want to forget that those who could no longer afford to live had ever existed.

She was terribly disturbed by it. She'd been down there. She knew if she were down there that if she wasn't killed at the outset, that she would have to become a Lurker in order to survive. To be so hungry...

It was her motion. A new approach to the Committee, to take a more active role. To touch one life at a time, rather than a large and faceless group. To supply, feed. To care. Maybe, she thought, just maybe, if the Lurkers knew they didn't have to compete for food anymore, their lives would improve.

She was not naive. She understood they were not likely to crawl their way back to the top levels. But was it unrealistic to hope that once their basic needs were met, that some form of order, society would form? Wasn't that the path of civilization on every world?

 _Giant?_ she scrawled on her board. It would make a good anacronym. _Gal...no. Group of Intergalactic Assist..._ she crossed it out. It had a strong, positive association, but she couldn't fit all the letters.

"I'm worried about the expense," the Bimm Fellowman continued to list his concerns. "Rather than pay for so many, we could charter fewer, and simply drop the food."

Leia looked up from her scribble. "It is a necessary expense for the vehicles. I know of three pilots, maybe four, who would be willing to do this as a community service," she quirked her lips, mentally counting. "Maybe more. In fact, I think if we were to make a call for pilots, many would step up. And businesses would pay for food and charters. Most of them have it in their mission statements about giving back to the citizens that support them."

"The Lurkers no longer support them. Citizens fear them most of all. There was a poll recently - did you see it?" a Chandrillan asked the group. "The media asked what fears citizens of Coruscant lived with. The fear of falling down-level was greater than either Star Detroyer battle in orbit or a continuation of the war!"

"The fear is anyone can become a Lurker," Leia told them. "To have no one care about you, to forget about you, that you don't matter. I think that's the heart of human conscience."

"This is a social experiment," a Fellowman objected.

"Yes, it is," Leia agreed openly. "It's also a call to the rest of the galaxy that there is shame that our fellow beings live like this; that we have allowed it and tolerated it. And too, it is a hope that lives can be positively altered."

"It may not work," a Fellowman, human female said, "But I feel it's worth it to test it out here. If it does have a positive effect, then we'll have benefited all beingskind. Not just physically, but societally as well. Then we can move it to other worlds."

 _GOAD? D? Department?_ No. Too negative. Leia flashed the woman a friendly look, thanking her for her support. Orphans of the Galaxy Assistance League. How's that? Leia considered. OGAL. She pronounced it in her head and made a face. No. She looked at the letters intently, and then she had it. GOAL. That was good. But League - was there a better term? The words beginning with 'L' in Basic that sprang to mind didn't fit. Literature, liturgy. League would do. Her face wore an expression of approval. Galactic Orphans Assistance League.

She put her stylus down, determined that the time had come to end the debate. "We are to ease the suffering of the oppressed," she told her committee members. "That is the mission of this Committee. There is suffering going on under your feet! You cannot ignore it. If we don't come to a consensus now, I will make this a public issue with the media. No," she held up a pacifying palm, "I am making no threats. I am merely emphasizing my belief that there is support for a program of this nature. Just because you are uncomfortable with the idea of Lurkers does not mean you pretend it doesn't exist."

It was not a threat, Leia thought, but she noted their reactions. It was not a threat because she knew the holos were interested in her. They wanted to sell stories, and the ex-Senator Princess that was friends with the Jedi Master and Liberator would certainly sell a story. Her personal contacts, the media's greed, would help raise awareness and cause the movement to grow. Discussion would move out of the room through the holos, and that might be what needed to happen anyway. The less enthusiastic Fellowmen needed to learn the general opinion of the societies they served.

But the fact that the movement was important to her, that she was convinced the movement also needed to be important to everyone else, that's what gave it the veil of a threat, Leia conceded. She'd had a discussion about this very idea, hadn't she, with Yoda and C-3PO, about how a lone person could delude themselves into thinking they were working for the greater good when really they were serving the Dark Side of the Force. Leia merely wanted to feed the starving and forgotten, but how far a jump was it for Leia to lead other orphans, manipulating emotions and ideas until everyone toed her line, doing for her what she determined for them was the only way.

She would walk that fine line the rest of her life. She was not concerned, however. Her two fathers were on either side of the line, both self-serving in their own way. Both had abandoned the little picture for the big. Both were in positions of power. The actions of both had resulted in the death of far too many beings. Far too many. Their mistakes hung over her like a cloud. She would work in committees and in groups. She would watch to see how the Force, both Dark and Light, traveled. And she would keep the small picture, the one where individual lives mattered, the one that contained no ambitions, as the reason for her actions.

"Let's vote, then," a Fellowman suggested. "All in favor of providing food down-level say 'aye'.

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A knock rapped sharply on her door but Maranya did not call out for the visitor to enter. She didn't feel like talking, hadn't for a while.

The door swung open anyway, which she knew it would. That was one reason why she didn't talk. No one listened anyway. Doc Brack kept his fingers curled on the door, hesitant and apprehensive. "Maranya? May I come in?"

She didn't give an answer and he didn't wait for one. "It's goodbye, Maranya," he said sadly. "I can't believe it's come to this."

"It's a bad idea?" she asked.

"No, no," the medic hastened to say. "No," he sighed deeply. "I think it's probably a very good idea. I trust Skywalker, don't you?"

Maranya nodded.

"But you and I..." Doc Brack smiled weakly and ran a hand through his hair. "We go back a ways. Been through a lot together."

 _Not really,_ Maranya snarled under her breath. _You couldn't even fix my jaw right._

Doc Brack kept looking at her, his eyes glittering. "I admit, I'm sad to see you go. Like the end of an era." He waited to see if Maranya had a comment for him. "I'm sad," he repeated, trying to identify the root. "I'm happy for you, too. I want you to be well, to be happy. I..." and he understood why he felt sad. "I wish I could be a part of it. I wish I could have done more, done right."

She had never seen him cry and it was odd. Just two tears, and he sniffled. "Be well," he told her, reaching for her hand, but he was awkward, unsure, uncomfortable, and she just looked at him. "Be well, and be happy."

She nodded.

He dropped his hand. "I"ll think of you. Often. Will you stay in touch? I'd like to hear your progress, about the Academy. When I get leave I'd like to come to Tatooine and see how you are. Will that be okay with you?"

Maranya couldn't see any reason for it not to be and nodded her assent. She wasn't sure she believed Doc Brack's intention, but she thought more he was fooling himself. In any case, his feelings right now seemed genuine at least, and that's what counted.

"Good bye," she told him.

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Chewie came to escort her out of the medcenter. The translator droid rolled behind him.

"I don't want the translator," she told him. 

Chewie cocked his head at her. "How will you understand me, then?" he asked in Shyriiwook.

Maranya shook her head. "You can talk. I just don't need to know what you say." She liked the sound of Shyriiwook, the growls and hoots. Doc Brack had never picked up any of his speech, and Luke had told her he and Leia had learned it only after being cooped up with him for a while and not having Han around to translate. How Solo had come to learn it she did not know. There was a lot she didn't know about him, and she thought she probably should. He was another one who didn't like to talk.

"Are we going to the ship?" she asked.

Chewie indicated no with a shake of his head. He offered an explanation, probably the alternate destination, but Maranya had no idea what it could be. She fell into step with him.

They didn't go to the Palace roof, the one way she was familiar with to get to the Falcon. They left through a lower level exit, one quiet, nondescript and ordinary. An employee entrance. Servant's entrance? Jabba had a public entrance, the big door, and he called the others, the way the guards and entertainment and staff came and went, the service hatches.

She was unused to the outdoors. As a girl, before Jabba, the moisture farm was hot, she too young for chores that took her to the heavy, dangerous equipment, so she went out only to go in somewhere else. From home to school mainly. After her father sold her to Jabba she didn't feel the outside air for six years. Her last moments on Tatooine were trapped inside the Falcon during the sandstorm, and then she was whisked to the orbital base at Sullust, where there was no outside.

This air was noisy. That was her first impression. And cool. She glanced around, looking for the sun, which was high in the sky and almost white, not large. It peeked at her through a break in the streaming traffic. "Where are the others?" she asked. "Luke and Leia? Are they coming?" She did not expect Solo.

Chewie rumbled an answer, and all she got from the apologetic tone was they weren't coming. She wasn't surprised, but some vague feeling filled her. What was it? Her counselor had been training her to pay attention to herself, stop when she had a strong emotion, figure out what it was, and what caused her to feel it. _Just Chewie. He came alone. Am I lonely? Did I want the others to come?_ Disappointment, that's what it was.

She and Chewie hit the sidewalk and almost immediately a flimsi was pressed into her hand. "Hope to see you there," the being who gave it to her said.

Chewie watched her face. Her reaction to the encounter was, as usual, slow, almost uncomprehending. "Do you read?" he asked. Of course, Maranya had no idea what he asked. He turned the flimsi over in her hand to read. It was a flyer for an event, a fundraiser, evidently.

"Luke wanted to come," he told her, even though she wouldn't be able to understand him. "He expected to. But he got taken by surprise when he called his holos contact about the destination for the Academy. They've been camped outside his rooms, and his financial backers all wanted to talk to him." Chewie chuckled. "None are too thrilled with the idea of Tatooine for some reason. Like it has anything to do with them," Chewie scorned. "They probably have imagined a scenic campus, somewhere comfortable and beautiful, like the old temple was. Where they could lord over him in luxury."

The sidewalk was crowded and Chewie felt protective of Maranya. She was just a wisp of a being, unused to belonging, even to pedestrian traffic. He kept his hand lightly at the base of her head, steering her. "He's handling them well. He will meet them, let them think their say is influencing him, like their money always has influenced, but he never really gives them an answer. It's funny. Both Han and Leia call it Yoda Speak, but to me, Luke is doing it deliberately. His backers all scratch their heads, but they spend their money anyway."

There was another being handing out flimsis at this end. Recipients reached for them automatically, but only a few actually read them. Some slipped them unawares into pockets, or just held them, while others immediately cast them onto the ground.

"And the Princess," Chewie continued. "You'll have to forgive her. She is busy, too, but not in the same way Luke is. She set up all this being busy. Mind you, it's real." He stopped, considering Leia's renewed energy for some of the negotiations she'd been involved in before losing her Senate seat. "That's how she functions. When something is on her mind, something she should be thinking about, she throws herself into work."

They were still within the bounds of the extensive Palace sector. Maranya listened quietly as Chewie kept up his narrative. She maintained her silent conversation with her counselor in her head. _Why do you listen without comprehension? Because it is happy. Why do you feel happy just listening? Because of the sounds. Because he doesn't expect me to understand. Because he still talks even though he knows._

"She is busy with the Lurkers. They are even harder to reach than you," Chewie said, and then paused, thinking perhaps that was too harsh a barb. Then he shrugged. He could be truthful. What would Simple Girl know? "She thinks of death a lot, you know. She is covered with it. So this work, what she is doing for them, is real. She wants to clean them of death, bring life into their world. Like sunshine." Chewie nodded, appreciating his analogy. Too bad no one would hear it.

"Exactly like sunshine," he repeated. Sunshine was bright, and it didn't just allow eyes to see. Physically, it was warm and nourishing, in a complicated way. Would the Lurkers react to light as a leaf would? Convert it's light to something that could sustain? Sunshine, when it hit the skin, offered comfort and hope. That, too, was sustaining.

The poor Princess, Chewie reflected. She deserved sunshine herself. She was unlike any other human. She fought to make her own sunshine. Covered in death, and she makes life. Chewie nodded. "That fits," he mused aloud, answering his own thoughts. "That is true. On Kasshyyk, a dead tree hosts the life, maybe even the one that killed it. Fungus and insects. Life springs from death."

The Lurkers were on Leia's mind predominantly. When she was out with Chewie, walking about, her eyes shifted to the guardrail that stopped beings from stepping into the sky lanes, over the edge and down below. She could not forget the struggle she had witnessed going down herself, and she fought to understand why Han wanted, needed, to join the struggle.

"And Han is on her mind," Chewie resumed to Maranya, because she had looked up at him, wondering why he fell silent. "He went to walk among the Lurkers and that disturbed her. It shouldn't; I know Han. That is how he works. He doesn't look for sunshine. He was not seeking death. There is some part of him that understands the Lurkers better than he understands someone like her, and I think really he was just trying to clear his head." Chewie made a bitter sound, a rueful laugh. "He prefers to clear it by being rendered unconscious."

Chewie stopped to pick up a bundle of flimsis that the speeder traffic breeze had blown into a corner. He looked around for a garbage disposal. "I don't know what to do about Han myself," Chewie confessed. "He can't remain unconscious all the time."

Maranya thought it quite possible Chewie was getting as much out of his untranslated conversation as she was. _He talks with them. They understand him. I have never heard him go on for so long. It must make him happy, too._

"He is a good being," Chewie asserted quietly. "You have seen him do good. But I think you have seen him do bad, too. That is why he didn't come. But you know that. When a cub is tested for adulthood, one task is they must seek their reflection in the pond. What they see, or don't, has great bearing on what they make of their future. The clouds, the sun sparkle; they dress your reflection. If a leaf falls in, or a shell-lizard comes up for air, it all means different things. It is the same for Han. When he looks at you he doesn't like what he sees."

"How do you view your reflection?" Chewie asked, stopping. Maranya was aware he was asking her something, saw he wanted to see something from her eyes, and he nodded solemnly as she returned his gaze evenly. "He's mixing everything up. The good was put in long ago, like it was for Luke and the Princess. But while they continued to live in good, his life changed. He was treated badly. He let it turn him. He was too young. Still a cub," Chewie tsked, shaking his head. "Too early for the pond. He believed them."

Chewie sighed and stopped talking. Maranya walked silently, waiting for him to resume. Ahead of them the landscape changed, as they left the limits of the Palace. Spacious, elegant residences, none near the size of the Palace but matching it in beauty; distantly some flags and banners fluttered in the soft breeze. Offices, Maranya guessed. She still had no idea where they were going, but figured it wasn't in this vicinity.

"Keep talking," she urged Chewie, shyly lifting her face toward his for a moment. "I like it."

He smiled down at her. "I like it too," he said. "I think the only one who would tolerate listening to me ramble on about themselves is Luke." He patted her shoulder. "You are a pond of a different sort."

Chewie lapsed into silence again, considering the cleansing nature of talking with someone who didn't understand him. Most didn't. Han had taken to Shyriiwook with the greatest ease Chewie had known, better even than those that studied in universities. Chewie wasn't sure if Han was exhibiting a talent for languages, but that may have been part of it. He did already speak several before meeting Chewie. Maybe he had an innate sense of how a language is put together. Or perhaps it was Han's originality, the way he rejected standards and instead had things conform to him, like using bacta gel for lubricant and quilted coats for insulation on the Falcon. He wasn't a genius, as Han liked to proclaim about himself when odd things worked well, but he was certainly ingenious.

Maranya looked at him again. "I'm sorry," she told him.

Chewie waved his hand anxiously, excusing himself, and hoping she got his body language. "No, no! I didn't mean to stop. I was thinking. Still about Han. I was thinking how original his thinking can be, and now I see he isn't able to do that where it concerns you. You are indeed a pond of a different sort. Somehow whatever happened at Jabba's got in him, became a part of him, not a tool or part he could use for himself. Hmm." He smiled at Maranya again. "Thank you, Simple Girl. It is one thing to lose some leaves when the wind blows, but to be uprooted, that is another matter entirely."

There was a third being distributing flimsis. "Ack," Chewie grumbled. He took one. "Is this for the same thing? Yes, that foot race. The fundraiser for Cell Eaters Disease." He grunted. "Seventeenth annual. We should show it to the Princess. Maybe it will give her ideas for feeding the Lurkers. " He handed it to Maranya, who stacked it on her other, and they resumed walking, she now holding two flimsis.

Chewie's thoughts roamed from Maranya back to the Princess. "It's not dislike," he told her. "Maybe you two are too similar. You are the same of your species. Female. Others have attempted to break you both. In some ways you are very opposite. She is very mindful, intellectual, self-controlled. You were a sex slave. You embody the dangers of physical indulgence. I think that's what troubles her.

"Look at all these flimsis!" Chewie exclaimed, his exasperation having built to a head. "What a waste of time and money. Here, help me." He started to gather the discarded flimsis and Maranya, seeing what he was doing, pitched in to help. When they had numerous copies Chewie led them back to one of the beings who was handing them out.

Chewie rumbled at the being in a lengthy explanation. Maranya watched in curiosity. The being was clearly frightened, the way Doc Brack had been when he first met Chewie. Chewie's long furry arms gestured, his throat made guttural noises, and when he spoke his sharp pointed teeth were displayed. For the first time in a while, since Jabba's, she came to someone's assistance. This was her own idea. No one ordered her. No one instructed her.

"These were thrown down," she told the being, who understood Basic. "We collected them from the street for you. Cleaned the sidewalk. Use them again." She handed them over, taking care to keep her own two in her other hand.

The being calmed, thanking both Chewie and Maranya and offering another flimsi, which made Chewie bark in frustration and frightened the being all over again.

Maranya found herself almost laughing. She turned to Chewie. "I spoke for you," she said. _And how did that make you feel when you spoke for the Wookiee, whom no one understands? Good. It felt good. Like pride._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Maranya was surprised by all the beings in the hallway. Chewie made noises, she was fairly certain she could distinguish growls from actual words, and the beings kept their distance. She had no idea why they were there and looked at Chewie, who told her in his native language and she still didn't know. Still, some cameras flashed and a few called out. She heard, "do you have the Force?" "Will you be a Jedi?" before Luke threw open his door. "Come in," he directed, ignoring the beings in his hallway, and let them shut the door behind them. "Just getting things ready," he called over his shoulder.

Maranya stepped into the room that served as both eating and living room. It was small, much smaller than her cavernous room at Jabba's, _which wasn't really a room,_ something nagged to remind her, but it was furnished with a tiny table and a settee and had a window. It was high. Maranya couldn't see any of the pedestrians but the speeder traffic looked close, like if the window were open she could reach out and touch it.

Luke noticed how she was looking around. "How do you like my accommodations?" he grinned at her. "And I thought the homesteads were small."

He was always relating to her as a Tatooinian. Her lips parted in sudden recollection. She hadn't even thought about that size and purpose of the homestead when he had taken her back to her family's home. She'd only been looking for her family. _And they had left you._ True, now that she thought about it, the homesteads were bigger. She had her own bedroom. She could see Luke's kitchen, a counter really, with a heating and cooling unit. She remembered her mother in the their kitchen, stewing tuber roots they actually managed to grow in the cool, dark, confines of their underground shelter.

She wondered what the difference was between a homestead and accommodations.

Had her father packed up like this? Luke was bustling about, gathering things that were his. It wasn't much, but he had some personal effects, several days of clothing, some food he had purchased and now emptied out of the storage area which sat in a carton, some flimsis.

Nothing had been in the homestead when Luke took her to visit. _Not to visit. To see._ Tables, beds, rugs, chairs, all gone. There had been a bedspread in Luke's, she remembered. He had swept the sand from it. And she had convinced him to bring it out. Did he still have it? She moved about the room, looking for the place he slept.

Had he packed with care, like Luke? Or had he simply fled, left the furnishings to the desert and the Jawas. Luke had brought the bedspread out and driven back in the land speeder with it folded neatly on her lap. Then they had returned to Solo's ship, even though he wasn't there, he was in the medcenter, he'd been shot. The memories were coming swiftly, flashes of images in her mind. Solo on the skiff, Leia over him, breathing for him. He'd almost died, hadn't he? And she had cried. Her counselor's voice asked her, _did you cry for him maybe dying, or another reason._ Maranya thought. _Another reason. For her._ Then Solo had convinced her to take him out to the desert. Luke had been there, too, and although there weren't many people, just Yoda, _I miss him,_ and Leia, and the great black man they battled. They were battling! Had Solo really done that, he was so weak.

Here was the sleeping room. She had taken it for a utility closet door, much like they'd had on Tatooine homesteads. Just a teeny space, enough to keep the cleaning 'bots and supplies. She would call it a sleeping room, no more. Shelves lined one wall, for clothing, though Luke had packed what little he had, and the 'fresher was separated by another door threshold.

The bedspread was draped sloppily over the mattress, too large for the cot Luke was using. She grabbed a corner to fold it.

Leia emerged from the 'fresher, her hands and arms clutching Luke's bath items. "Oh!" she said, clearly startled. "I didn't know you were here." She added, as an afterthought, "Hi, Maranya."

"Hi."

An awkward silence passed between the two women. Maranya thought she would describe Leia as looking guilty to her counselor. _Guilty?_ her counselor would question in great interest, and Maranya smiled a little.

"How are you feeling?" Leia asked. She found she didn't know what to talk about, or even how to talk. That was the obstacle. How do you talk to someone who is so completely at the opposite end of the spectrum, who thinks about being with the dead more than the living. _Goodness,_ Leia breathed to herself. _That was me not too long ago. No wonder everyone was on egg shells around me._

"Fine."

"Good." Leia looked at her, still holding Luke's toiletries. Maranya had her hand on a corner of the bedspread, and was frozen in place. "Helping Luke pack?" Leia finally said, in a fake, bright tone. As if she had given herself a cue, she moved to deposit the items in a zippered case.

"I was looking for this," Maranya referred to the bedspread. "I wondered if he still had it. It was from Tatooine."

Leia took it in. "Was it?" She hadn't known that.

Maranya was looking at her oddly. "It was in the back bedroom," she pressed, as if Leia should know that.

"I didn't live there," Leia explained. "Luke is my brother, but we weren't raised together.

"Maranya's brows furrowed a bit. "Where did you grow up then?" Despite having had a father who rejected his not rejected, sold own family, Maranya's view of family units was traditional. How could Luke and Leia be so close, when they hadn't grown up together? _Sad,_ she told her therapist. _Sad. I knew my family but they aren't in my life and there is no love._

"On Alderaan." Leia looked at Maranya expectantly, waiting for recognition, interest, something to be able to share about Alderaan, but there was nothing.

"Alderaan," Maranya repeated softly.

"Yes. Do you know of it?" Leia waved a hand, wondering if any part of Marany pre-Jabba existed. Perhaps a little schoolgirl, studying galactic geography. "It was a Core World. It...doesn't exist anymore."

Maranya's head jerked up sharply. Luke had told her something about Leia losing her planet; she'd forgotten until just now. He didn't say planet so much as 'world' and 'universe' and so it wasn't physical to Maranya as it was conceptual. She realized how different Leia was from her. Everyone was different; that's why she had sought the rancor, never being able to connect with others, to even feel as human as they looked, but Leia was even different than them. She was obviously well-traveled. From Alderaan to Tatooine, to Sullust and Coruscant. Maranys'a grasp of the galaxy was minimal. There was a sky, and stars that didn't twinkle were planets. Before Solo, she had never been off Tatooine. Before Solo, even Tatooine disappeared. Her entire universe encompassed the walls of Jabba's palace.

"It was destroyed," Leia said, listening to her tone of voice like someone else was speaking, remarking to herself how matter-of-fact she sounded. "In the war. The Empire developed a weapon strong enough to crumble a planet."

"You weren't there," Maranya noted.

Leia noticed that Maranya did not comment about how fortunate Leia might have been, that she was lucky to be alive. "No, I wasn't," she said. "My father...sent me away." Echoes of Luke's parable rang through her mind. Maranya stared at her, her hand still on the bedspread.

"Your father," Maranya said and Leia nodded.

The spread was too long for Maranya to pick it up and fold it without walking the length of the cot. The fold was poor, with bumps and creases. Leia, her own task paused, zippered the case of Luke's toiletries and moved to take a corner.

The two women stood in the middle of Luke's floor, their arms wide, the red bedspread, with its sea of blue lining underneath, hovered in the air between their fingers. They locked eyes, and in the same moment each reached a corner on the same side and brought it to their other hand, folding it lengthwise. Then they walked towards each other, their eyes still taking each other in, and met halfway. It was now folded along its width.

Red and blue. Leia remembered two light sabers clashing in the desert. Red and blue. Dark and Light. Right and Wrong. Fathers and sons and daughters. Homes and Lands.

It was terribly symbolic. _I wonder if Maranya sees it the same way,_ Leia wondered. _We put our fathers to rest._

Maranya seemed to find a deeper meaning in the folding of the bedspread as well. "I am back to my beginning."

Luke had said something similar, Leia remembered, when they discovered Han had gone down-level. But he hadn't exactly been right. "Think of it more as you've come full circle," she said gently.

"Full circle?" Maranya repeated.

"Yes. Returning to make a new beginning. Putting an end to one part of your story and starting another."

Maranya moved the spread back to the cot and pressed down on it, removing air pockets. She rubbed the fabric with her palm and looked at Leia, who was watching her with a wary expression. "Will you be starting a new circle?" That same wariness was in her eyes the first time Maranya saw Leia, standing next to Luke who was arguing for Solo's release.

"I have a few, I think," Leia smiled faintly. Where was her beginning? Alderaan? Then how would she come full circle? There was nowhere to return to. She'd navigate life to her end, only completing her circle when her body returned to the energy of the Force, as Alderaan had. It seemed too big, too vague. "I should close a few circles, shouldn't I?"

Maranya remembered Leia's introduction vividly. With all that had been going on, the throne room abuzz with the energy of their intrusion, Jabba taking their money, Whipids and Gammoreans surrounding them, the Rebellion threatened, Leia's eyes had been fiery and never left Solo.

"Solo is your circle," Maranya affirmed.

Leia looked away, fighting shyness. To talk about him, a man, this man whose arm she loved to touch, and with a sex slave, this man...she flushed.

"And you are his," Maranya continued. She nodded. "You gave him the gun. You are what helped him kill Jabba."

"Yes. Maranya, something I want to ask," Leia began hesitantly. "Something for closing a circle. That day, when Han killed Jabba. You were brought in, with Han."

"We shared a cell."

Leia swallowed. "Yes. And Jabba was declaring Han's execution order, and you were brought forward..."

"To provide the final pleasure." Leia couldn't ask her next question.

"To sex him," Maranya provided bluntly. She watched Leia carefully, instinctively sensing her dread, knowing she could close Leia's circle. _You wanted to cry,_ the voice of her therapist reminded her, _for her. Remember?_

Leia flicked her thumb nail against the other. The tiny clicking noise was faster than her heart beat. She couldn't take the nervous tension. "Han said something to you. What did he say?"

Maranya took a big breath. "He told me to remember my promise. He made me swear, if he killed Jabba, that I would never sex again. He did not want the final pleasure." Leia's eyes closed against a silent groan. "He wanted me to keep my promise."

Maranya rubbed Luke's cover again. Solo had denied the final pleasure, fighting Jabba's ways as he always had, but she had begun her vow then. Jabba wasn't dead, and she had said no. "I fought," she realized aloud. "Solo said one reason he hated me is I never fought. But I did then. Jabba ordered and I said no." The contrast of the blue lining of the bedspread was against the red, reversible and rich. Maranya raised her eyes to Leia. "Jabba had already said we would die, by the Pit. If I ever said no, I would die, by the rancor. So, since I was already dead, it did not matter to say no. Either way I would die."

It was the most Leia had heard Maranya speak at one time and there was a lot to take in. And there was her steady, unblinking gaze she found so unnerving. "You called it a cell."

"Where we stayed."

"Were all slaves kept in cells? Were you not allowed to leave?"

"The door opened each morning. I was checked, and then I was brought out to sex. I returned in the night, when I was done."

"And Han?" 'Checked' Maranya said. Leia knew she was overlooking something important.

"He was a Punished. He was only brought out for punishment."

Leia nodded, her thumb nails still warring. "Were you," she swallowed, hardly able to articulate. "Were you...his punishment?"

It finally came to Maranya, all that her counselor had been trying to tell her. Why she was wrong, recounting all this horror so frankly, not being able to understand just what bothered Solo so. It came in a flash, through Leia. A woman whose father sent her away, a woman whose home was destroyed, a woman who had fought for the life of another. Maranya had been everything Leia was. Her story was about to come full circle. Her father had sent her away, her home was destroyed. Now she could fight for the life of another.

Maranya had been missing love. They told her that. It had not been something she could grasp, and she hadn't cared. But she knew, since being out of Jabba's, that she lacked it. Lacked the ability to receive it and give it. That's why she sought the rancor.

 _I know what love is,_ she wanted to tell her counselor. _It is being home. It is being with someone where you are safe, covered, caressed. That's what the sand did for me. Love is fighting for someone, for their happiness, their well-being, their life._

Leia, straddled over Han, breathing for him.

"You only need to know this," Maranya started slowly. "That his punishment was a choice. And whichever his decision was, he would suffer. There was no right or wrong answer, just how did he prefer to suffer. He decided he would not let me die."

Leia's thumb stilled, but her heart was huge in her body, throbbing in her chest, pulsing in her belly, shaking her hands. She fought back tears, tears for Han, for all he endured; for herself, that she may never know, and her first tears for Maranya.

 


	60. Chapter 60

The sunlight trickled down from the clouds, around the buildings, onto the docking platform. It was not a warming or comforting light. The air held a lot of moisture, a promise of rain, and Leia stood there, chilled, apart from the activity, separate from the groups.

Chilled, from the inside and out. Her heart was strangely quiet since her talk with Maranya, as if it had absorbed something, something almost toxic, something draining. _Like on the Death Star,_ she thought.

She'd had only a hard bench, grateful, oddly enough, for that, in her cell, feeling like reaching the floor to sit, to collapse, was too far to go. The lack of heat, the pain, the abuse, the shock, all that made her grateful the architect included a place for prisoners to sit in the blueprint for the Death Star.

 _Sick. It makes me sick, now. That bench._ The psychology of imprisonment was fascinating, really. She felt detached from herself, watching Han standing with the other pilots, recalling her internment, her reactions. Grateful for a bench. _They did so much to me. And I wanted a bench._

 _No wonder Maranya loves the sand._ For some reason, her talk with Maranya flooded Leia with sensations and memories of the Death Star. Her eyes remained fixed on Han in the crowd. Does he stand out, she wondered, or does he keep himself apart? What was it about him that drew her, exactly?

The group of pilots were laughing at Wedge Antilles, who mimed a comical march, knees and elbows at angles, and was rewarded with raucous laughter. Leia couldn't hear the words, but their humor was evident. She observed Luke, who slapped Wedge on the back, laughing. Her brother, a Jedi master, was laughing.

She flashed back to their first meeting. _I was on my bench when I first saw him. I'm Luke Skywalker, I'm here to rescue you._ Leia cursed the Force. She cursed that it gave her the ability to feel so much, so strongly. She envied Luke his peace.

He'd managed, it somehow. Balance. Yoda had been resigned to the point of apathy. His clear separation of Light and Dark rendered him unable to act, but here was Luke, a mixture of the two; knowing, feeling, seeing; and he was enjoying a ribald story.

 _I slid off the bench._ A lone storm trooper, in her cell. She freezing in a panic, _not again, he's alone_ the helmet removed; a young man, Luke, in her cell. Trying to understand. _Rescue?_ With General Kenobi, Luke explained. If Luke- starry eyed, looking upon her with awe, male- if he hadn't mentioned Kenobi she may not have believed him; not followed him.

Out of her cell, hurrying after Luke, her first encounter with Han. Tall, good looking, despite the storm trooper uniform, a man. _Maybe you'd like it back in your cell, Your Highness._ Immediately rude, foolhardy. She the first one in the garbage masher, he the last.

She had fired a gaping hole in the wall and jumped. After he had jumped, he too had fired, probably trying to make a gaping hole, as Luke had moments earlier – now she twitched a smile. _They were copying me_. And they both had yelled at Han.

While the walls of the masher squeezed the garbage together, while Chewie tried to push them back, while she tried to clamber to the top of the pile, she fought confusion. _I was in such shock._

Her confusion had centered around the fact that she was not yet dead, and on the two men who were so badly bungling the rescue. They were drawing out her death scene. Instead of a clean blaster bolt to the temple she would be squeezed, drowned, crushed in garbage.

Why was Luke- earnest, heroic, sincere Luke- with Han, and why was he with Luke? The two didn't fit, didn't match at all. Then Han had said something abut a reward and she thought she had him pegged; remembered her strange disappointment in her rescuer, the greed coming out of that handsome mouth. In almost the next instant he overturned whatever determinations she had made about him, still foolhardy but funnily, exhiliratingly crazy, making storm troopers turn tail as he chased them away from Luke and Leia. What about your reward? she recalled saying to herself as he disappeared around a corner, probably to be killed, and all she could hear was blaster fire, his yell, the Wookiee's worried call. Why had he done it?

Because he was an idiot. Because he was rash. Because he was impulsive, with no love for the Empire. And because he wanted Luke to get Leia safely off the Death Star. _Get back to the ship,_ he'd hollered.

It came to her clearly, now. That's what it was. He was setting up Luke's moment. For Luke. And for her, also, though he probably wasn't as sure of her just as she wasn't of him. But he knew, somehow if he didn't make it back, she and Luke would be able to fly the _Falcon_ together to Yavin.

 _He thought we didn't need him?_ Was he thinking the same thoughts in the masher, practically throwing her on the top of the garbage pile? Was he confused by his own turn of events, how he happened to be with Luke, and now her?

She knew what he had told Luke. _Better her than me._ But that was before he met her. _He's loved me since then,_ she realized, the knowledge bringing a small glow of warmth to her core. She hugged her arms, rubbing the new-found warmth all over. They had left the garbage masher and he made a complete about-face, dashing after storm troopers, hollering for them to get to safety when he really meant _better me than you._

She wished she was able to know she loved Han that soon as well, but she couldn't love then. Like Maranya, her captors had stolen the ability from her. It was Han's patient, quiet love- she recognized it now, for what it was. It was hard to recognize, because the man was not outwardly patient and far from quiet. But he had brought her to where she stood now. Was he still able to love? Had they stolen that from him?

The Death Star had been a place of reckoning for each of them. Kenobi had made the ultimate sacrifice and Han found he was willing to. Luke and Leia became self-defined, learned of their inner strength and fire.

Leia sighed, and asked her heart to return to the task at hand. Nineteen pilots had answered the call to help GOAL deliver food down-level. She was pleased with the turnout. Luke's former comrades, members of Rogue Squadron made up five, and local Coruscanti pilots comprised the rest of the group.

The Galactic Orphans Assistance League – GOAL – had chartered ten from a fleet of speeder delivery crafts. The Millennium Falcon occupied a space on the platform as well, bigger than the fleet vehicles, breaking the symmetry of the neat lines formed by the docked craft. As the pilots chatted easily together, Leia could make out the faint vibrations of each vehicle, painted a brown and orange, as the engines idled.

A loading crew busied itself around the docking platform. Crates were loaded onto three repulsor lifts and delivered to the waiting speeders.

The Fellowmen of GOAL clustered near the Dock Manager's office, looking completely out of place. They were here at Leia's invitation, because they had all managed to achieve something together, and Leia wanted them to see how much effort went into making something like this happen once their contributions set a course of action. From the looks of it, this was an educational experience for them. They were unused to the behind-the-scenes activity which made GOAL a reality.

The Chandrillan female was speaking to a holoreporter. Several were present on the platform, moving around, taking holophotos, interviewing Fellowmen and pilots, even the owner of the fleet reserve. She saw one try and single out Luke, then Han, who made a rude hand gesture. Several of the pilots laughed but the reporter took offense. Leia could read it in his body, a stiffening, a leaning forward. His mouth moved angrily, and Han responded, that handsome mouth probably letting more ugliness out, moving toward the reporter. Wedge and Luke, cautionary looks on their faces, held Han back, encouraging peace.

Leia clutched her data board to her chest and approached the group of pilots. It was as good a time as any to start. The focus was on GOAL; not the Liberator's foul temper. The media were a necessary evil and even Luke had learned to treat them as such but in the glare of their spotlight Han was always on the defensive. He was angry they'd been so quick to judge him, but at the same time he didn't want them digging too deep.

"Gentle beings," she said. She smiled at the group superficially, her heart not yet allowing joy while it still poured tears. "Two to a speeder," she informed them. "Rogues," her finger pointed at the Alliance pilots, "will team up with a local."

"Thank you for your participation," she continued. "You are making a difference to the city, one small step at a time." Her eyes swept the group, meeting each pair looking back at her. "We are investing in you while you invest in Coruscant." She noted a holoreporter was recording her words so thought to make a tiny speech. "We aim to lend assistance and aid to those that have fallen under the regime of the Empire. We will back planetary efforts and provide funding for worlds to help with job, housing, and relocation efforts, but we will also raise awareness across the galaxy that fear, hunger and despair is not an acceptable quality of life."

The pilots were shifting on their feet, Luke grinning at her, all anxious to get underway. She began to issue instructions. "Each of you is to deliver to an assigned level at ten different coordinates. The skylanes are still intact, but watch for debris from collapsed railings, lights, and buildings. Have your operator lights on high. Stay in constant communication with the Deck Manager. Both pilots in each craft will disembark. One will unload while the other keeps a lookout.

"I'm not anticipating any danger," Leia told the locals specifically. "But you should take care, nonetheless." These were the pioneers. They were part of the city, part of what allowed the Lurkers to form their own dark, separate society. They were probably here for adventure.

"Each drop should not take long. Be sure to use the macrophone to announce the second drop date, five days from now. When you return, file your assessment with a GOAL officer. Again, thank you."

Leia assigned which levels each pilot would visit, letting the local Coruscantis begin at the tenth level. They moved off with their copilots, and she followed Luke, Chewie and Han to the _Falcon._

"May I fly with you?" Leia asked. The other Fellowmen were to remain with the Deck Manager. She didn't think it wise for them to see just how it was down-level yet.

Han crossed his arm at his waist, bent and swept his other hand out in an excellent version of an Alderaani bow. "An honor to have you aboard, my fellow man," he said with a wink.

She had assigned him the lowest of the planned destination, down to the hundredth, so they were to lift off first. Han gave a mock salute to the others watching from their cabs while Chewie strapped in and donned a headset.

"Transmitting coords for level one hundred," the Deck Manager communicated.

"Acknowledged," Chewie returned. He and Han snickered, knowing no one in the Deck Manager's office would understand a Wookiee communications officer.

"Chewie, come on," Luke sighed. He switched the translator on. "Take it seriously."

Han began to pilot the ship carefully through the city traffic. He picked a lane, and began their descent. All too quickly the cab was engulfed in darkness. The blackness was deceptively similar to being in space, Leia thought. She remembered that moment on the bridge of the Death Star, before she understood Tarkin meant to use the weapon, the extensive view of space the battlestation's viewport offered. Han switched the lights on, and she closed her eyes against the sudden brightness, seeing the red of the laser heading towards Alderaan.

Han glanced at their positioning location on the radar. "Lowest of the low, huh?" he asked wryly.

She looked at him. _Back to the beginning, Luke had said. Lowest of the low._ She could see his face only from the console lights. It reminded her of peaceful moments in the Falcon's cockpit, Han's face awash in connection with his ship. "You're taking that personally?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Lowest of the low," he said again.

"It's more dangerous the lower you go. You're the best qualified for your piloting, and your fighting skills," she told him. "But yes, because you've been down here. All of us have. We've seen what's in the heart of the Lurkers."

"They have no heart, Sweetheart. They're just hungry," he sneered. She kept peering at his face, thinking it should look different since she left Maranya, since he had left them all those months ago, but it was still just right; the sharp outline of his jaw, his brow, that mouth, his expressive eyes. He didn't look different, but he wasn't the same. _Did I look different?_ she wondered. _Do I? Would my father know me?_

"Do you think my plan will work?" she asked.

"There's a lot to be said for a full stomach," he said quietly, and this time she heard something, some deeply felt truth, something that came from his heart.

They fell silent. Leia watched the radar as their reading got closer and closer to the lowest level they dared go. "Do you think this is far enough?"

Han shrugged. "Or too low. It's pretty far down. Not sure what's left down here would understand or remember what it's like up there."

Luke sounded philosophical. "Think of all the advances the sciences could make down here. Sociologists, archaeologists. The city's history is here. Zoologists. There might even be something new from the old, evolved life."

"They still deserve to eat," Leia said with conviction.

"Yeah," Luke agreed. "You're right."

"What do they eat down this low?" Chewie wondered. "How does food come to them?"

"Dirt?" Luke asked. "Slime?"

"Each other," Han said.

Leia glared at him. "That's not funny," she snapped.

He shrugged indifferently. "It's probably true."

"I hadn't thought of that," Luke conceded. "But it's possible." He looked at Leia apologetically. "You were here," he reminded her. "You saw it."

She ignored him. Stubbornly she refused to acknowledge the possibility of cannibalism. _Anyway,_ she tried to reassure herself, _we are providing food now. That way of life will cease to exist._

"Down-level moves with the city," Han observed. "You know, as a new upper level is created there's a new down-level that becomes abandoned. So they move up too, little by little."

They reached the bottom-most level of the plan. Han unstrapped but no one else moved.

"I'll unload," Han volunteered. He looked at them all expectantly. "Who wants to be lookout?"

"I don't wish to touch the pavement," Chewie said. "The slime gets in my fur." Luke and Leia looked at each other, neither daring to nominate the other.

"You big coward," Han derided.

"It _is_ one of the nastiest places in the galaxy, Han," Luke said.

"So it's slimy. Look, nothing's gonna happen," Han assured them. "This is the hundredth level. There hasn't been a light down here in _years._ They're all blind. If there's even anyone here. Come on Chewie," Han snapped with impatience, "I'm risking life and limb apparently, and you've got the Life Debt."

He left the cockpit. Chewie sighed and made to remove the communications headset. Leia put an arm out. "No, Chewie, I'll go. This is my project. Stay here and talk to the Deck Manager." She looked at Luke. "We're making ten drops. We can take turns."

Luke made a face. "Great."

Chewie leaned forward and unlatched a panel. He pulled a small blaster out of it and passed it to Leia. "Take this. And grab a lamp from back there. The _Falcon's_ lights point in front of the hatch, use that to light behind Han."

Leia accepted the blaster with a nod and left to find Han.

He already had the hatch open and was hefting a crate. The ones containing the ration bars were not heavy at all and he could take two, though it was awkward to move. But he wasn't going far. A few careful steps on the slime and he deposited it roughly, then went back for another. "You got the macrophone?" he asked.

The lights of the speeder were directed ahead of where they were working. Sections of buildings, stair wells and interiors emerged to Leia like out of a fog, ghostly relics of a past life. Particles danced in the air, stirred up by the ship. She shivered. "I hate it down here," she whispered.

Han's head popped from behind a crate. "You say something?"

"No." It wasn't any easier this second visit. She stepped out carefully, trying not to slip in the slime. "It's cold." She hated it down here and she hated that Han had come down here. _Was this his bench? Is that why he came down here?_ "How old is this dust?"

"I have no idea."

"A century?" A crate Han was carrying lifted a few inches, and she knew he had shrugged. "Do you see any signs of life at this level?" she called out to him.

He rested an elbow over a stack of crates. "Don't matter. You know what's going to happen. They're going to gorge themselves. It'll all be gone in minutes, right after they get to it. And a bunch will die, I can guarantee you that, fighting over it. And if no one's here to eat this delivery, the others will climb down. Don't worry, it'll go to use."

Leia was horrified at his description. "I don't know that will happen at all," she sputtered. "We've put a lot of planning into this."

"Oh, you think they're gonna know that?" he scoffed. "Be able to appreciate that? You think they're going to whip out their bibs and sit with good manners?"

"We're coming back in five-"

"You don't change the world overnight, Sweetheart," Han rejoined. "Or five days. They don't know what that means, five days. Those that do won't believe it. Some are still gonna be hungry today and some'll be dead. Lurker population control."

"How would you know so much about it," she said bitterly. It was ugly, sheer ugliness; and she was angry that it existed, that he expected it.

His voice got loud, and it echoed angrily off the buildings. "Because I know what being hungry's like." Abruptly he shut his jaw and glared at her. He breathed in deep and got control. He gestured with his palm. "Make your speech."

Leia found her hand was shaking as she lifted the macrophone to her mouth. "Residents of Coruscant," she recited from memory. A Fellowman had written it. Up there, the wording displayed the sweeping aspirations GOAL had. Down here, it was pretentious and pointless. Han, for all his cynicism, was probably right.

"Residents of Coruscant," she began again, wondering idly how the Lurkers got their name and how they referred to themselves, if at all. "Coruscant does not forget her children. Provisions are left for you. Take only what you need," _they're going to gorge_ "and leave for your neighbors." _It'll all be gone in minutes._ "Another delivery will be made in five days." _A bunch will die._

They returned to the cockpit. Leia refused to speak to Han.

"Goal ten, checking in," Han told the Deck Manager. "First drop made, requesting new coords."

"Transmitting, Ten," Leia heard a voice respond. "Any excitement?"

"Negative," Han sent a quick glance at Leia. "How's everyone else?"

"Goal One is just starting their third drop. They had some company on their second, just spectators."

"Warn everyone to be careful," Leia told Chewie, still ignoring Han. "They've seen the lights of our crafts. Don't let any approach. If it gets tense, just drop and fly. Omit everything in the announcement but that a return drop will be completed in five days."

"Copy that," Wedge's voice came over after Chewie's warning was translated into Basic. "I felt kind of silly reading that. I'm at level sixty. It's creepy down here."

"Creepy is skimming the surface,"another pilot interjected.

Leia felt a dread, like she had overlooked something so obvious in the planning. _Are we really so naive?_ What would she and the others see as they ascended, the last ones in? Empty crates, corpses?

"Shoulda had me top of the top," Han read her thoughts.

Leia nodded worriedly. "I hope the locals come back next week."

"They will," Luke said definitely. "It's life changing down here." Han didn't strap in and piloted along the pavement to the next set of coordinates.

"Get back in the skylane," Leia murmured anxiously.

"I can see," he told her. "And they're blind in this light. It'll give us an advantage."

"You always look for that, don't you?" she asked in the same murmur.

Han's eyes flicked quickly to her, sensing a reproach. "Gotta keep your back to the wall," was all he said.

Leia nodded thoughtfully. _Like my bench._ "How did you manage that at Jabba's?"

"What?"

She could almost hear his dismay that she brought up Jabba again, and even Luke was looking at her in surprise.

Han brought the ship to a sudden halt, and Leia was moved forward in her seat a bit, the restraining strap pulling her back. He jumped out of his seat without responding to her. She checked the display: he had not stopped prematurely. Her timing was bad.

"I'll take a turn," Chewie told them, and Leia got the distinct feeling he was going to protect Han from her.

"What was that about?" Luke immediately turned to her.

 _Solo made you fight and laugh and cry._ "Did you yell at Han when he made me stomp off?" she demanded to know.

"What? When did you -" Luke broke off, realizing she was referring to all the times, before Han left them, when he started fights with her just to provoke her.

"Yeah, I guess I did. Is that what this is?" he gestured out the cockpit, following Han. "I think you just wanted to make him mad. He never threw what was eating you up inside in your face like you just did."

 _There's nothing like a bench here. I don't feel safe._ "His attitude isn't helping. That's why there's no change in the universe, because people like him think it's not even worth an effort to try."

"You know better than to listen to that," Luke said. "He always talks, Leia. He's noisy. You've got to look instead at what he does. He's out there. _And,_ " Luke added significantly, "he volunteered to be the first to make a drop."

"I'm sorry," Leia said hurriedly, though she didn't mean it. "I'm off-balance. I'm -" She shook her head. "Luke, would you consider putting off your departure?" she asked unexpectedly. She moved into Chewie's seat and stared at her knuckles.

Luke's mouth opened and closed. "I thought we were ready. I packed and everything." Leia nodded. She was packed too. "I think you're being premature," she said. She had learned this in politics. Always put it on someone else. _I don't feel safe. Luke, help me feel safe._

"I'm being -" Luke broke off, thinking _you're being immature._

"Wait a week, or maybe two. Just to see this get off the ground." His dubious look caused to her to speak in a rush, clasping his wrist to show how earnest she was. "Please, Luke. I want to go with you."

"I know. I want you to come, too. We could go and then you could come back," he suggested.

"There's a certain momentum I've started here. This early in the game I'm not sure it can sustain itself if I'm not around to keep it going."

"You can't control everything, you know," Luke said with a shake of his head. "You have to let others hold the reins. It's a committee, Leia. There's others on it besides you. They not only can do it, they will. They will."

"You're right, I know. But please, Luke. Please? Another week. I feel like there's something...there's still something I need to do here."

"It's not about the committee, is it?" Luke realized. "It's about him," his chin jutted to behind them, where Han was busy unloading crates, "and it's about her." Now he tossed his head toward the window, indicating somewhere, someone, not in the room. "Her and him, Leia, not you."

Leia bowed her head. "I know, I know."

"Her and him," Luke repeated. "You can't solve their problems."

Leia weighed his words. In a way he was right, of course, and she cursed the Force again. But she thought he was also wrong. No, she couldn't solve their problems. But she could help find a solution, couldn't she? "But me, too. Yes, Luke," she told his negating head shake, "because if they - if he- cant - it affects the whole future. Do you see that? And I'm part of that future. Whether I want to be or not, I am. And if I am I want to be comfortable with it."

"You're just uncomfortable bringing them back to Tatooine. To Jabba's."

"No -"

"Yes, I think so. I think that's it. But I know what I'm doing, Leia. I know it's the right thing. I've had crazy ideas in the past -rescuing you for instance- where it seems like I'm venturing into territory doomed to fail. You, and when I shut off the targeting computer at Yavin - I listened to my instincts. Maybe this seems crazy to a lot of people. It does to my backers," Luke laughed harshly. "They're not too enthused about Tatooine." He stood up and sat on Han's armrest. "It's the Force. Even before I knew I had the Force it was always there, in my instincts -"

"What about my instincts?" Leia broke in hotly. "What about me feeling all jittery, like this is too early, too soon-"

"There's a difference between instinct and fear," Luke said sagely.

"Now you're just spouting rattleshit," Leia accused. Luke's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline at her profanity, and she tried to soften it, but knew she'd exposed herself. "Yoda speak."

"No."

"Fear is an instinct," she argued stubbornly.

"Fear is an emotion -" "It's an emotional reaction to instinct."

Luke pressed his lips together. He would have many moments like this, he realized. Teaching vulnerable students.

It was a dangerous time for students of the Force. They felt it, believed it to be their ally, that it provided truth. Unharnessed, the Force was raw and powerful, and it had no allies. This was the moment Dark and Light could be separated, one from the other, to serve itself.

"I don't think so," he told Leia thoughtfully. "Instinct is the Force. When I learned you were on the Death Star, I didn't even have to think about it. I just said we have to get you. But Han, he was the reaction to my instinct, the voice of reason, and fear really, because if we left our safe hiding place and openly went after you, his fear was that we would get killed. His instinct was telling him there was danger, and he was reacting to it by saying he didn't want to do it."

Leia took a deep breath, feeling used by the Force and resentful.

"Better her than me."

Luke gave her a pale grin. "Right."

They both jumped as the noise of the hatch slammed through the intercom. Leia rose from Chewie's seat.

"...of course it stinks," Han could be heard. "You didn't even step out," he complained as he reentered the cockpit.

"You smell," Luke observed.

"I fell," Han groused, showing them his pants leg. "It's worse on this side. Must be the part of the city that only gets morning light or something. I bet residents fight mold up on top. Remind me if I ever get an apartment here to pick the opposite side, with afternoon sun."

"You going to live here, Han?" Luke asked.

Han's eyes were steady on the readout for their next delivery point. "I seriously doubt it. Take the helm," he directed Luke. "I don't wanna get the seat dirty."

Since Han was already dirty he made the rest of the deliveries, standing in the hatch while she and Luke navigated the ship, Chewie accompanying him silently as lookout since he already had gotten slime in his fur. They saw no indication of habitation and Han's mood got darker and darker.

 _Better her than me._ Was she reacting out of fear? Was she thinking of Maranya?

Maranya hadn't told her much, nothing Leia didn't guess herself. Maranya had been evasive, and kind almost. _She tried to be kind. For me._ Han was a Punished. Maranya had said that, Doc Brack had mentioned it, even Han had told her himself.

The Punished suffered through choice. _It was what we did, or didn't do, that made the choice for who went to the rancor,_ Han told her. Because of him, a sex slave lived.

Leia's heart twisted in her sadness, souring. _No_ , she told the Force. _You won't. The Force is everything. It's instinct and it's love and it's existence so therefore it's sex, too._ Her tone felt bitter. _I have to deal with that. Reproduction is how we maintain existence. Sex. Dark and Light._

She grabbed the back of the navigator's chair with her hand and helped herself into the seat.

Luke looked at her curiously. "You alright?" Leia nodded, not looking at him. "Yes. The smell, and my knees locked. I just feel a little nauseous."

He didn't buy her excuse at all, she could tell. But he didn't push. "We're almost done."

Her mind had been trying to tell her all along. She'd known it, deep down. But she wouldn't listen, refused to think it through. "What happens when you ignore the Force?" she wondered softly.

Luke's face was filled with sympathy. "When it shows you what you don't want to see? Like how Anakin saw our mother dying in childbirth?"

Leia nodded. Had the same thing happened to Vader? He had ignored the Force ? She still refused to refer to him by his given name.

"He didn't want what was shown," Luke continued softly, "so he sought to change the outcome. And he separated the Dark from the Light."

"And it used him," Leia said.

Luke held up his hand, his middle finger crossed over his index finger. "This is the Force. He untwisted them. Dark offered what it saw he wanted."

"But it lied?"

"It didn't care. It existed for itself."

"Like the Lurkers. Oh, Luke." Leia buried her face in her hands. "I'm so confused. I don't know if I'm doing anything right. I thought I was...I thought, the orphans of the galaxy, all they need is a family..."

"Family's a good thing," Luke said gently. "And you've been a princess. You lead. That makes for a big family."

Leia thought about her father, and all the Alderaanians he led to their deaths. She thought of all the Lurkers that would be killed just trying to eat. "The Force is out of balance down here? Is feeding them going to be enough?"

"It might take time," Luke offered. "But food is sustaining."

"For me not to see what Han saw - is the Force using me? Did it lie to me?"

Luke leaned forward tapped her wrist bone. "You haven't been following it."

"But I did just now," she said in a rush, "and it's sick." Her eyes met Luke's, large and tragic. "I jumped on Han because I've been thinking of the Death Star, what happened to me there, what happened to Maranya. It's going to kill them, isn't it? Slowly, but it's killing them. Maranya already tried. Han is...He doesn't have the Force, Luke. How can we help him fight it off?"

"Finish following it," Luke suggested. "You're not done. It showed you, and you understand. Now you can reject it, and try and find another solution, like our father, or-"

"Or follow it to the end."

"You don't like what it showed you," Luke guessed.

"Have you seen it?" Luke shook his head. "I haven't looked. I know it's there, but, my Force strands mixed with Maranya's. That's how I'm going to Tatooine. Yours mix with his and hers."

"Are you ignoring it?"

Luke moved back in the captain's seat, thinking. "I suppose it looks that way. I know it's there, but I don't look at it. It's...it's not for me," he shrugged apologetically. "It's one of those things where I have to let it unfold by itself. I can get caught up in it, try to influence the outcome, but that would separate Light from Dark."

"What if it means they die? That's so like Yoda, sitting back and doing nothing."

Luke nodded, looking sad. "Don't you see? There's nothing for me to do. But you," he smiled a little as Leia raised her head, "you can act. You're part of this."

"Look to change the outcome?" she asked dubiously.

"No. Then we're back to the beginning. Follow it, Leia. Finish it. What has the Force taught you about Han?"

Leia's eyes moved to the darkness outside the cockpit window. All she knew right now was that Han was a strong mixture of Light and Dark, noble and sordid. If she wasn't to separate the two, how could she rectify the one with the other?

The intercom light flashed and Han's voice told them, "That's the last. Chewie and I are fighting over the shower. Take us topside, Luke."

His voice was so many things to her. It sounded warm, but it bit. He was decisive, fatigued. She heard anger, humor.

Luke smiled. "I'll let the DM know." Leia barely heard Luke's soft relay to the Deck Manager. She loved Han's voice, always had. _There's a bit of Vader in you_ his voice had once told her. Mellow, loving, rich.

She considered Luke's question. Everything she learned had been in a dream. Really she wasn't any different than Han, was she. Daughter of a Sith Lord, abused prisoner of the Death Star, orphan of the galaxy. Noble and sordid.

 _Follow it._ Dreaming of the destruction of Hoth, Vader about to kill Han, she throwing herself in front of him. Her love provided protection from death. Was it her love that saved him from dying on the skiff when Vader shot him? A father attempted murder but the daughter's love saved. Sordid and noble.

The last time she dreamed about him he carried Maranya on his back. He hadn't seemed to mind. They had the Puzzle Gems, which in her dreams were weapons. And they were going to feed them to the Lurkers. The Lurkers would die. _It's what they want,_ he had told her when she argued. _The Lurkers exist for themselves._ Amazed, Leia stared at Luke, who kept his eyes straight ahead but couldn't hide the shadow of a smile. _I can act. I can sever those strands of the Force. Sever is different than separate._

They were the last ones in. They flew past unopened crates. No Lurker was brave enough to break cover and explore the delivery yet. But soon, Leia thought. She was glad no one saw what Han predicted would happen.

The other pilots were waiting for them, lingering under the wing of one of the speeders, keeping the media at bay. It had begun to rain, and the media were under the awning created by the roof of the Deck Manager's office, trying to keep their holo equipment dry. The Fellowmen were in the office, watching out the window.

Leia, Luke, Han and Chewie joined the group under the wing. The pilots looked very subdued, even the Rogues.

"Shit, Your Highness," Wedge said upon seeing her. Both he and his local Coruscanti copilot had obviously fallen, their clothing begrimed and odorous, like Han's. As she took in the group, she saw most were filthy.

She nodded, understanding what he was trying to say. "I know this wasn't easy. Once you see what it's like down there you can't view your own life the same."

"I grew up with stories about it," a local contributed. "It's nothing like what I've heard. It's ten times worse. I give you credit," he said, "trying to make a difference. I don't know that it will happen."

"Will you participate in phase two?" Leia looked at Han. "From what I understand, it will get worse before it gets better." Han nodded back at her in agreement.

The pilot shrugged. "Hells. I suppose. As long as you're supplying fuel and it don't cost me nothing. Maybe throw in a clothing allowance. I'm curious to see what's going to happen."

Leia glanced at the holo reporters. "The media are waiting. Talk to them. I'm not going to censor what you say. I only ask you tell them the truth. No," she corrected, "speak from the heart. If you thought it was awful and you're not returning," she shrugged, "by all means, tell them. Just why, from the heart. No agendas. No one-man-plan to end GOAL or frighten the citizens. If you're just in it for the slime and the thrill, let them know."

Several of the pilots chuckled. Leia thanked each of them personally and watched them shamble off to the Deck Manager's office.

"You giving an interview?" Luke asked Han.

Han made a sour face. "No."

"I will," Chewie announced, and he moved off eagerly.

Luke elbowed Han. "We've created a monster," and Han laughed. "Hey, Leia," Luke turned to his sister. "I'll go back to our rooms and fetch Maranya and bring our stuff over." He wagged a finger at her. "Don't go following me, now." He waved a farewell to Han. "See you back at the port authority bay."

She swatted his hand away. "Wait for me Han," she ordered.

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	61. Chapter 61

Luke stood in the hallway outside his rooms, which was now, once again, just a hallway, no longer a crowded gathering place for members of the media with overactive imaginations. His neighbors had put up with Luke's new celebrity with varying levels of tolerance. Some yelled at him directly, as if Luke were responsible for the crowd and noise; some complained to the superintendent, and others were glad to approach the media for their own attentions. Most of the tenants, Luke reflected, were probably glad to see him go.

It was just him now and a couple of satchels, a carton of packaged food. The media had departed en masse suddenly, abandoned him for a bigger story, which was the ex-Senator and her charity efforts. It had been big news, the announcement of the location of the Force Academy, but that's all it was: an announcement. They had tried to stir up more of a story. They watched his quarters, noted who was visiting, took pictures of him. He'd had nothing more to offer them, and his story was reaching an anticlimax. The Jedi Master was apparently fairly boring, and he would be leaving planet soon, so they had given up on getting anything more useful out of him.

 _They left a mess,_ he thought. He didn't think it was his responsibility as a tenant to clean the hallway, but he would anyway. It was because of him there was a mess out here.

"Maranya," he called through the open door. "Is there an empty box or bag you can bring out here?"

He stood, chewing on his cheek, considering the satchels and carton that were the sum of his and Leia's belongings.

_Not much. Not much at all._

He'd left Tatooine literally with the clothes on his back, three years ago. _Going on four now._ The clothes on his back and two droids. He thought of his landspeeder that Ben had him sell so they could put a down payment on a charter to Alderaan. He'd told Ben he was never coming back. _Shows how little I knew._

In three years he hadn't amassed much in the way of belongings. He still had the droids, but he sort of unofficially donated them in service to the Alliance. _I'll need to get them back_ , he determined.

The clothing that was packed here was a mixture of things he'd been issued as an Alliance pilot, things borrowed from Han, the outmoded Imperial uniform from Kwilaan, which Han also had acquired for him, and a light cloak he'd actually purchased here. It had been a practical purchase, because he found the air damp and chilly, but it was what he was wearing when he went before the Senate and during the ensuing media barrage, it had become a sort of fashion statement.

Ben had worn a cloak, he recalled. He knew now it was, but Luke hadn't considered it part of the uniform of the Jedi. Luke knew Ben as a hermit on Tatooine and Ben wore a cloak probably for the same reasons Luke wore a poncho: to protect him from blowing sand and cool night-time temperatures.

Yoda had a cloak, too. But again, Luke had not read anything more into it than Yoda needed something to wear to protect and shelter himself from the grabbing branches, the insects, the dampness of the swamp.

Luke hadn't meant to invoke the memory of the Jedi order. Both Ben and Yoda had gone into exile, and Luke supposed, such an urgent and hurried departure would have them leaving with just the clothing on their backs, the uniform of the Jedi.

The media jumped to the conclusion that Luke wore the cloak to identify himself as a Jedi. Luke gave a mental shrug. Maybe he did. He hadn't worn it when he was passenger on the _Falcon_ to deliver food down-level to the Lurkers, but he pulled it out of the satchel now. It was raining, and he was a son of the desert. He would put a bag on his head to keep the water off his hair if he had to.

Maranya appeared in the doorway, a shopping bag in her hand, leftover from when he'd bought groceries.

"Perfect," he told her. "Could you help me clean this mess?"

Luke stepped around his tidy pile. Only one satchel belonged to Leia. Either she was leaving her food behind, or she hadn't purchased any. Luke would bet on the latter.

She had even less than he did. _S_

 _he denies herself,_ he realized. Was it guilt? Because her homeland was destroyed but not her, she didn't permit herself anything because she felt she didn't deserve it?

She would bristle at his insight. It was wartime. She lived on military bases and wore a uniform. _I don't need anything but victory,_ he heard her voice insist to him.

He helped Maranya pick up discarded wrappers, wondering how many of the shirts Leia had packed were actually Han's.

Another one who would bristle at his insight, Luke grinned to himself. _You'd give the shirt off your back_ , he enjoyed an imaginary conversation with Han in his head. _Not off my back, kid. As you can see, I'm wearing a shirt. Those came from a drawer_.

Most of the remaining trash was at the end of the hallway, near Leia's entry, and Maranya was getting that. Luke stepped back into his own rooms, preparing to do one final sweep before turning in his access codes.

He passed quickly through the 'fresher, the bedroom, opened food storage areas and looked in the cooker one last time. On the small eating table were a couple of flimsis. Luke frowned. He didn't remember these. He grabbed them, half reading one, and rejoined Maranya in the hallway. She was tying a knot in her bag of trash.

"Where'd these come from?" he asked her. "For cell disease?"

Maranya looked at his hand and back into his face before she remembered. "Chewie and I brought them when we walked here."

"A foot race," Luke read in a mumble. He looked at her. "You don't have cell disease, do you? I mean, your doctor didn't give them to you?"

"No. They were passing them out to passersby."

"Why do you have two?"

"I don't know." Maranya looked as if it hadn't occurred to her. "They gave me one, and then Chewie got annoyed, I think with all that were thrown on the ground. We picked them up and returned them. Then he read it, and handed me the second. I don't know what he was saying."

"Hmm," Luke said. "Maybe he wants to go. I'll ask him." He unzipped the satchel that contained his other flimsis and databoards, research for the academy and history of the Jedi. He straightened. "You ready? It's raining. This might be the last time we experience weather that isn't sunny or hot." He rifled through Leia's things. Two of Han's shirts, he counted. He pulled out one of Leia's hair bands. "Will this help any against the rain?"

Maranya looked at Luke and shook her head. _Another one who denies things,_ he thought. _Or maybe it's me. Maybe I don't know what I'm offering._ He tucked the band into his pocket. "Want me to rent a repulsorlift? Or do you think we can carry this?"

Wordlessly, Marnaya moved to lift Leia's smaller clothes satchel over her shoulder while she carried Luke's flimsi case in her hand. She waited for him to grab the carton and other satchels. He nodded at her, not begrudging her silence and thinking about cell eater's disease.

 _Could the Force fight that?_ he wondered. It was physical; something that afflicted the body, merely what the Force flowed through. He showed Maranya where to discard the trash bag and they made their way, encumbered only a little by their burdens. _I don't think so. Maybe help in treatments, but cure it?_

He hadn't thought about this before. He knew life had a counterpart: death. But illness? Death was necessary, inevitable. It wasn't wrong; it wasn't bad. Not Dark. Did illness mean, from the perspective of the Force, a body unbalanced? Did illness have a counterpart, health? His mind streamed along on its own. Physical. Was mental its counterpart? Spiritual? However one wanted to term it.

They walked long enough now that the cloak had absorbed as much water as it was able, and Luke felt his hair growing damp. He glanced at Maranya, who wore no protective clothing, and who was blinking in the rain.

"I'm sorry," he murmured to her. "I should have rented a speeder."

She shrugged at him, accepting the wetness and not knowing to be uncomfortable. "Last time for rain, right?"

He smiled at her. "Right." So if a body could become unbalanced, then could a mind? Is that what was wrong with Maranya? Was the Dark Side of the Force at work in her attempted suicide? It seemed a much bigger task to rid a mind of Dark than a body. Would an ill body make for an ill mind?

He opened his mouth a little and rain sneaked in. It had a definite taste, sour and metallic. He and Maranya were not the only pedestrians but he wanted to close his eyes, look for Yoda or Ben and get lost in their philosophy of the Force. He'd spent almost no time with Ben and when he was with Yoda he hadn't known enough to ask these questions.

He sighed, careful to keep his lips together and the rain out. There was still so much he didn't know. He felt a weight, a weight of responsibility and loneliness. _Yoda,_ he warned in his head. _I'm going to Tatooine with just the clothes on my back._

_More than that, have you._

Luke took a mental inventory. _A former slave, some flimsis of information, and credits from my backers._

_Deny yourself not. Deceptive, nothing is._

_Yoda speak is my job now._

Luke felt a gladness, a humor, and knew his former master was chuckling. _Have what you need and need what -_ "

"what I have," Luke finished. The Force. He'd forgotten to add that to his accounting. He would need to interact with it more, spend time with it, allow it to move through his body like he had done running through the swamps of Dagobah. He wanted to breathe it in, and when he exhaled it he would add himself to the air.

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Leia's head was bent, and she listened intently to the pilot as he spoke to the media. They were crowded in the Deck Manager's office, all of them: she and Chewie, four members of the media, the nineteen pilots, the fleet owner and his Deck Manager, and the Fellowmen of GOAL.

There were only two chairs so no one sat. The pilot had visited level forty, but he was not describing his venture down-level. He spoke in Coruscanti, and Leia's head was bent so she could better understand him. Over the years, when she visited Coruscant with her father as Senator, sometimes the language she dreamed in was Coruscanti, but she didn't feel as confident in her fluency today.

The pilot was not young, but not old, either. Leia would pinpoint his age around Han's. Maybe a little older, but it was hard to tell. She was sure he was older than the Empire. He was telling the media about his childhood, a period of time when his parents couldn't pay their rent and after the city evicted them they were forced to go down to the first unoccupied level.

He had volunteered to help feed the Lurkers because that period of time remained vivid in his memory. He described tension, fear, stress; the struggle to get back on their feet and re-enter a society that offered no support to the financially inferior. He talked about the shame he tried to hide from his school mates and how his hunger kept him awake at night.

 _It's perfect,_ she thought. _I couldn't ask for a better testimony._ She looked out the window where the _Millennium Falcon_ sat waiting for her and Chewie to return, and attributed what the pilot was saying to Han's own childhood. She was glad the pilot had not become a Lurker. Somehow his parents had recovered, and were able to rejoin the flow of the city. The pilot still lived on the occupied lower levels, where life was grittier, because he wanted to, but he was thoughtful, and articulate, and giving. The fear had never quite left, he explained to the group. He was afraid there wasn't much protecting him from down-level. He knew the struggle. He was used to it; it was almost a habit, and he never wanted to forget that he needed to struggle. Always, for the rest of his life, he would fight to not become a Lurker.

What would Han make of the pilot, Leia wondered. _Sap_ , she imagined his answer. Han Solo didn't volunteer for things as a rule. Yet they had a lot in common. The Corellian indigent problem was not as dangerous to citizens as the one here on Coruscant, yet Leia was beginning to realize something. On Corellia it was the children. _Children._ What happened when these children grew up? Were they like Han? Beautiful and sensitive and angry? Were there many that never reached adulthood? If so, then the problem was as tragic on Corellia as it was here.

The rain was coming down in sheets and she wouldn't be surprised if a Force spirit appeared and told her each drop of rain was cried by an orphan of the galaxy, someone desperate and afraid and clinging to sanity, to life. She felt overwhelmed, like she had to bail all these tears from the ground while more and more fell, until she drowned in grief and despair herself.

The pilot finished, and she asked all the pilots to meet with the GOAL committee members to suggest any changes for the next scheduled delivery run. Chewie touched Leia's elbow and let her know he would wait outside for her, and the media followed him out.

 _I can't add any more tears,_ she resolved.

"First off," she told her Fellowmen, "and you must understand this. It's not heartening, down there. It's not welcoming. There's no gratitude. There won't be for a long time. If any of you are inspired to ride with a speeder delivery, as I did today, know that it is frightening, and vicious, and violent. And so dark. The Lurkers know they need to eat and they know they need to kill to eat. That's where we stand now. But we will not stop because it is distasteful to us. Or because we are afraid for ourselves. This isn't about us, and if that's your motivation right now it needs to change. Or you need to leave. Understand?"

Wedge Antilles nodded. "Her Highness is correct -"

"Leia."

Wedge smiled. "Forgive me. I'm not used to using your name without a title. You've always been Prin-" he noted Leia's palm and stopped himself. "Anyway," he continued. "she's right. Anyone who goes down next time, whether flying, unloading, spectating, whatever; they're likely to see something. Lurkers. Attacking, dead bodies. Until they trust that we will be regular visitors, providing enough food, that's what they're going to do." He looked at Leia for affirmation, and she nodded.

"We need to make some changes," Leia added, "to ensure our safety."

"More drops," a pilot suggested. "Same amount of food, just spread out with more stops. And more lookouts, more crafts." He shrugged. "More. Of everything."

That set the committee off. They discussed costs; costs of rentals, costs of pilots, food, time. It went on for a while. Leia worried about Chewie, standing outside under the awning in the blowing rain, but he was talking to the media. One was holding a recording device, and the other three were resignedly listening, but Chewie had a captive audience. _They don't want to go out in that rain, is all_ , Leia thought to herself.

Finally they made their revisions. Fourteen of the nineteen signed back up for next week, and Leia was fairly confident after the pilot's interview was published that many more would sign up.

The Deck Manager opened the door for them and they all stepped out. Some of the Fellowmen hunched up, called farewells, and immediately set off to find transportation back to their offices or lodging. The owner of the company arranged for one of his own pilots to ferry the others back to the public cab docking area, and Leia braced herself in the stiff wind of the storm, the rain coming at an angle slanting to the west.

"...then after you have cracked the hull and peeled off the first layer, you need to hold the berry over a flame..." she heard Chewie saying.

She glanced curiously at him, and held her laughter in. "What were you telling them?" she asked, as he abruptly cut himself off and joined her without farewell to the media.

"How to prepare marissshkya berries for eating," Chewie answered.

Leia laughed and shrugged at the same time. "Why?" The rain hit them and she broke into a slow run, their steps causing large splashes and wetting the legs of her pants.

"Why not?" Chewie asked. "Their interest in me serves themselves. They asked me how long you and Luke have been together."

"Seriously?" Leia turned her head and got a face full of rain. "We invited them to report on a forgotten segment of their society and they are concerned with Luke's love life?"

"And yours." Leia waved her hand, as if to say interest in her love life was inconsequential. "What did you say?"

"I told them all your lives. I hope they translate that part."

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She found Han at the auto valet, removing his cleaned clothes. He turned his head at her approach. "'Bout time," he complained. "Luke's probably waiting for us." She stood before him, dripping wet and cold, and with her hair plastered to her face and her clothing clinging to her skin he still could feel a heat rising from her; not just from her body, but from the intensity of her purpose.

"We had some details to hash out for next time," she informed him. "The pilots are going to do what you did. Leave the skylane and fly over the pavement, just making drops, but stopping at more coordinates."

He watched water drip on the floor from her tunic. "See, I knew what I was doing," he said. He rummaged in the autovalet and pulled out a towel. "Here," he tossed it to her. "

Thanks." She began to rub at her clothing. "There's a reality down there we hope to change, but I think it's best if they don't see that reality until it starts to change."

Han heaped the bundle of clothing to his face and pressed his nose into them. "Want my next lesson in Lurker society?" he asked, his voice a muffled rumble.

"Do you have one?" "Yup." He shook his shirt and a sock fell out. "A leader will emerge. Tenth level probably. Right at the top, where they're close enough to remember the old life."

She cocked her head, wanting to ask how he came to have a sense of cognitive behavior in beings. He was squatting on the floor and she could trace the line of the Blood Stripes that ran down the sides of his pants, rising to a peak at his knee and falling steeply to the point where they were swallowed up by his boots. She thought he was probably right in his assessment of a leading Lurker. "So at some point in the near future we'll be able to negotiate?"

He held his crumpled shirt to Leia. "Smell this. Does it smell like down-level to you?"

She bent her head and sniffed delicately. "No," she shrugged. She, too, felt she could understand, even predict, a being's cognition, but she and Han were from opposite ends of the spectrum. She figured hers was a combination of Force talent and circumstance. How had he developed his? It was either innate, or he had lived it. Perhaps it was her training and education, surrounded by privilege and comfort, but she believed beings could be steered to want to achieve a higher standard of living. Han, on the other hand, having fought tooth and nail to survive, had probably watched beings gravitate toward entropy. _We're both right, though. Interesting, how it can swing either way._ She had a sneaky suspicion the Force was part of the answer. _It's everything,_ she had told Han in delight but now it made her tired, to think how an individual's life was beyond their own control. Actions, reactions, carried along the stream of time, endless tears of rain, currents of Dark and Light.

"How do you know this?" she asked. "Somewhere, on some back planet, did you bring a populace out of chaos?"

He flashed his eyes in humorous mystery. "Would you be surprised?"

"I wouldn't, actually," she answered honestly.

He put his nose to his shirt again. "I smell it," he groused. "I'm going to throw it out. You need a shirt?"

"Not if it's your garbage," she retorted.

He smiled. "Maybe I should pitch it over the railing. Maybe the Lurkers need clothes too."

"I'm sure they do," she said casually. "So you're done with down-level?"

He looked at her guardedly. "I don't know. Am I?"

"Will you be here next five days?"

"Will you?" An alarm was ringing in Han's head. It wasn't like him to chase someone else's tail but conversation with Leia was rarely innocent, and he thought he could stay one jump ahead if he went around in circles.

She broke eye contact. "I'm not sure. You're flying to Tatooine."

"Yeah, but I haven't set a departure yet. I thought you were coming."

"I am."

"Oh. Good."

A slight smile formed on her lips. "Luke says I need to ease up on my need to control things. Let the committee handle the next drop."

Han's brows lifted and his mouth pursed in that careless shrug she found so appealing. "Good advice." He relaxed a little. Maybe this wasn't about him; maybe it was about her. She'd been dealing with a lot lately. Still, she had this troubling habit of bringing up his time at Jabba's, inserting it in every conversation.

"Will you need some help?" she asked.

"Help?" Han was puzzled, yet he was sure his feeling Leia was leading up to something was right. He tossed his clothing through the open door onto his bunk. "Chewie's coming."

"But you'll be returning," she said, her tone oddly insistent.

 _Here it comes,_ Han thought. "Just a charter, Sweetheart."

He was trying to dismiss her, she saw. She persisted. "No. It's not. It's for Luke. Maranya will be on board, you both will be back inside Jabba's old palace."

"Old," Han stated. "As in no longer there. What, do you expect the rancor to come tearing down the tunnels?" he asked, half joking. Actually, he wouldn't be surprised at all. "What happened to the rancor, anyway? Do you know?"

"Rieekan had it removed. It was sent back to Dathomir."

"Oh." He wasn't sure how he felt about it. Did he think it should have been killed, or should he be glad it was set free? Ever since he repeatedly saw the rancor in his dreams as a cute and cuddly Wookiee cub, he'd begun to think of it as one more victim in Jabba's palace. Locked up in a dungeon, never seeing the sun. Eating bony humans. He couldn't suppress a shudder. Or should he still be angry? Because Maranya might keep looking for it.

 _Oh,_ he realized silently. _Maranya._ That's what this was about. Chewie had mentioned they were together, packing for Luke.

He fiddled with the clean laundry some more to hide his sudden nervousness. "It won't resemble the palace anymore once Luke converts it," he said, aiming to change the subject.

"If you could go back again, to the way it was, what would you do?" Leia asked quietly. Han stared at her, groaning inwardly. _Princess, don't do this._ "If you could go back to the Death Star what would you do?" was his answer.

She considered it, all the important moments of her internment. "I would need a weapon," she said slyly. "But when I'm asking you, I mean back to just how it was, so that goes for me too, and I didn't have a weapon. So," she took a breath. There were the storm troopers in her cell, and though they overpowered her, she had fought them. There was the interrogation by Darth Vader, and she hadn't told him anything. Lastly, there was the destruction of Alderaan, and when her offered decoy had failed she had grieved. "I wouldn't change a thing," she realized. "I did everything right."

His eyes had grown very dark, and for a moment Leia thought the sudden shift in the lighting of the alcove off the crew quarters they stood in must be reflecting the gleam in his eyes and not vice versa. Or maybe the rain was finally slackening, the sky turned turned from ash to smoke.

She was doing everything right again, Han saw. Clever, clever woman. She was trapping him. Sharing her story, offering herself up, laying herself bare. Demanding the same from him, if he ever hoped to talk with her on the same level again. And he wanted to, gods help him. That was where her plan would backfire on her though.

Leia said with the utmost gentleness that it was going to snap his heart in half, "You did everything right, too."

 _Don't do this,_ he begged her in his head.

Leia placed her hand on his forearm, preventing him from walking away. She had to instill in him how important this was. "Han, I wore the Life Suit."

She said it more for herself than for him, to bolster herself, make her feel brave, give her the courage for what needed to be done.

Han, pre-Jabba, would have made a lewd comment, something about dressing up and role play, but Han post-Jabba felt a little sick so he said, "I know."

"There's nothing they can do, anyone can do, that can hurt me," Leia said, looking imploringly into his eyes. He still said nothing, but his own eyes were just where she needed him. He was wary, cautious, cornered. She moved again, still touching him, blocking his exit. "Never again. I'm not afraid of anything."

He swallowed, nodding slowly. "You're the bravest person I know. I told you that before."

"Yes." She couldn't speak for a moment, overcome by how far they had journeyed, how vulnerable they still were. "I'm not even afraid of losing you."

Han tensed. This wasn't about Maranya. Or maybe it was, but it was more about him than anything. His eyes flicked around Leia, to the open door of his cabin. "Losing me?" he echoed. "Where is this coming from?"

"I almost lost you once," Leia told him. "My own father tried to take you."

Han's mouth opened. He was tempted to deflect her intensity by adding levity; tempted to argue that Leia only allowed Vader his parentage when it came to all the bad he'd done, but her eyes were glittering and she looked beautiful, her hairstyle ruined and her shirt clinging and wet from the rain. He closed his mouth, realizing just in time that this moment was important to her; that's what made her so beautiful. To him, too, he admitted, recognizing in terror that everything hinged on this moment. Not on the moment. On his reaction. This wasn't a Sabacc hand. This was Leia. He couldn't bluff her if he tried. But he could ruin it.

"I almost lost you," Leia repeated, lost in the memory. "You may not remember. But I was kneeling in your blood, and I was your lungs, Han."

Everyone had told him how close he'd come to dying, but since he was alive he had a hard time comprehending their trauma. He barely had a memory of it. He definitely didn't know where the blaster bolt came from; in fact wouldn't have known that's what put him on the deck if they hadn't told him. And everything disappeared. It was hot, and she was there. That's all he knew. The angle of her face from where he lay on the deck, the sound of her voice.

He must have come more than close to dying if she had to breathe for him. He pictured her kneeling in his blood, remembered the blood of Lurker he had killed flowing down his hand, covering his wrist, getting under his shirt sleeve, and shuddered. It was a disturbing feeling, someone else's life all over your skin. He lowered his eyes to the floor. "I remember you some," he told her.

She nodded. "I didn't want you to die. I was afraid of that. But I did all I could. And so if you died...I would have to accept it, and let you go."

She sensed that he wasn't going to flee now, so moved her hand from his arm to grab at his fingers.

"Han... I know."

Han closed his eyes. The crew quarters went black behind his lids. All of a sudden he felt terrible, like his body functions were failing him. He wanted to sink to the ground, to stop breathing, thinking, just vomit all his horribleness out, but like Maranya, it wasn't something he swallowed; it was something he was. It was in the blood, and only something like the rancor could release it.

Leia watched his face grow pale. Squeezing his fingers, she tugged at his hand, fighting her fluttering heart, her voice cracking. She had condemned Vader, condemned Palpatine but she had yet to condemn Jabba for what he perpetrated behind the palace walls.

Outside it kept raining, constant pain-wracked tears, and she knew all the money in the world couldn't fix the kind of hunger Han felt. Time was running out. He had been poisoned, and she didn't have three years of patient, quiet love to save him. The longer she waited the more the poison took hold.

"You taught me," Han heard her voice float to his ears in a pale version of itself. "In my dreams, the Force was you; you were everything. You were tender and avenging, accepting and revealing. You told me a hundred different ways you loved me, all of me, the dark and light of me. Because of you I love me. Without that, I wouldn't be able to love you back."

She was remembering the wonderful quality of her dreams, how good the Force felt through his voice, his touch, his love. The Force is love. Han is love.

"I can lose you again," she whispered. She nodded to herself. "It could happen. I don't want to, but I understand that it could. And like anything in life, there's darkness and light, and if it ends with you, well, then," she paused, furrowing her brow a little, "I've had a lot of both."

She let go of his fingers. She had done, again, all she could do. He was a gambler, and she was forcing his hand. She knew who she was, what she was. She was strong, and yes, she was brave, but she had lied when she said she wasn't frightened of losing him.

 _Fear is an emotion._ This wouldn't kill her. So it had to be done.

Han stared at her, dawning comprehension on his face. His look was full of concentration and he was breathing hard. She wanted to grab him by his face and cover him in kisses, whisper _it's alright, it's alright._


	62. Chapter 62

When Han was a kid, wearing ill-fitting shoes and sleeping on the floor of the orphanage, or barefoot and scrounging in dark alleys to eat, no one talked. They fought, and they yelled, and they cursed, but at no time did anyone venture the question _what makes you you_. Nobody cared, nobody wanted to know, and it was better if they didn't, because if you weren't dead it meant they might be soon, and it was just better that you were.

It started when he was in the Imperial Naval Academy. The first time was bunking with the others. It took a few days, but it happened like an expiration date. One day you were strangers and then the next you were buddies, and they wanted to know.

Han usually evaded the question. His attitude stated plainly what you see is what you get. There was no need to ask.

Ever since then, it played out like that. He came to understand it was normal for humans; some instinctive, maybe genetic social thing, and he came to understand that his first experiences as a human child were far from normal. So he was loath to answer the question, _what makes you you? Tell us something._ _Share._

Luke was one of the worst. Always talking, always asking. Han remembered that Luke hadn't liked what he'd seen and gotten at first. And so he kept asking, kept looking.

Kind of remarkable, Han suddenly realized. He was pretty good at fending off attempts to befriend him. People needed to connect, and when they didn't get it from him they moved on. But Luke refused to.

See, that was the problem, Han told himself. It was that shared history thing. The Death Star. They weren't supposed to come out of there alive. But they had, and the craziness of it connected them forever, no matter how hard Han tried to sever the bond.

And now he had a history, a time, away from them, that had nothing to do with them, but they wanted to know. Because of that shared history they expected it of him. It wasn't good enough anymore, _what you see is what you get._

Luke sat at the lounge table on the _Falcon,_ soaking wet like Han from the rain, his hands around the plasmug full of water Han had poured for him, playing with the condensation which formed. Han was just outside the lounge, leaning against the threshold, his feet wet in his boots just this side of the room's boundary.

Luke had arrived while Han was at the Deck Manager's office, telling him they were set to lift off. The rain still came down hard, blowing in a slant, large, needle-shaped drops that stung. The Deck Manager had offered a hand to shake.

"Next five days?" he said in farewell. Han only gave a tight smile in response and returned to the _Falcon._ He took the storm like he took his court martial, his back straight, refusing to hide from it; his face defiant and full of _fuck you_.

He still didn't know exactly what had transpired with Leia. Though they'd been interrupted by Chewie and Leia hadn't said anymore, somehow he knew she was done talking. She was done, but it was all very open-ended for Han. He stood there in his wet socks and boots, watching the homey group of his friends huddled together on the other side of the threshold, and he waited to hear Leia's voice. She hadn't said anymore to him, but he needed to hear it. Her voice. It was warm and loving, and it solidified him. He listened for it, wanting it to dispel the cold fog that had set in him, swallowed him as he stood, hoping it would be a beacon for him.

Leia had passed towels around to Luke and Maranya when they arrived. Her eyes flitted to Han quickly and shyly at his later appearance, but Luke was the only one to greet him.

Luke wore the towel around his shoulders, no surprise there. Luke was never full of surprises, Han thought. _What you see is what you get._ In Luke's case that was a good thing.

A flimsi was making the rounds along the pairs of hands seated at the table. First Maranya had dug it out of Luke's satchel upon his request. Luke's bag sat squatly on the lounge floor dripping rainwater, and she'd handed it to him. Luke had then almost immediately passed it to Chewie, saying he made a point to bring it back for the Wookiee, but Chewie handed it off to Leia without a glance, saying he'd intended it for the Princess. Leia took it and read to herself.

 _Read it aloud,_ Han begged in his head. One part of him wondered what the flimsi contained that was so interesting while another just needed to hear her voice.

Leia thanked Chewie, and Han could tell by her face she didn't quite understand what the flimsi's contents were to her. "Are you signing up?" she asked.

"It's not the race so much,"Chewie explained. "It's charity fund raising."

"Oh!" Leia exclaimed in comprehension and read it again, this time out loud.

 _Gods, her voice._ Even the announcement of a race for charity sounded elegant and dignified. _But a foot race?_ Han snorted to himself. To him it seemed a bit irregular. What abut the beings with feathers, wings? For stars' sake, even Chewie's feet would have an advantage over Leia's.

Han looked down at his own feet, wiggling his toes in damp socks and pressing water out of sodden boots. Earlier he'd done a pretty thorough job of coating them with slime from down-level and it wasn't a simple job of just brushing dirt away. He'd had to apply a pressurized stream of water to remove the slime. _Shoulda just stood in the rain._

Han cocked his head, and lifted his foot. He'd put his boots back on as soon as the slime was removed, and regretted not taking the time to apply water proofing. Polish too.

His boots were showing wear. The texture was weathered, worn, cracked. He glanced once more at Luke, Leia, Chewie and Maranya, and hovered his foot outside the threshold boundary, as if daring himself, like a child, testing the limits of permission, where he could and could not go.

Leia was saying that it was a fun, joyful way to raise money. Certainly a great way to raise awareness. Luke's voice reached Han's ears, but now he was only half listening, waiting for Leia to speak again. He kept thinking about his boots. These were the only pair Han wore. He couldn't remember how long he had this pair. Since…. He pursed his lips, trying to remember. Since before he met Luke sometime. It was the only pair he or Leia had ever seen him in. Han checked the sole, remembered how the hot sand of Tatooine's desert felt like it had burned a hole through the bottom.

Luke was now talking, Han couldn't quite believe his ears, about exercise. And the Force. Of course, the Force. Always the Force. He had the Force, and was at peace with himself, full of self-awareness, but how was anyone supposed to relate to him like a normal person anymore? That's how the Force separated, Han decided. It wasn't that the Jedi flaunted their powers, possessing magic, that the non-sensitive were deficient somehow, that the Jedi were superior. It was because they had every damn answer when everyone else was struggling to figure out just what the question was.

Luke was even willing to delay his trip to do the foot race. Because he loved to run, he was telling the others. It was the most unconscious way he accessed the Force, the way it moved through his warm muscles, the way he breathed it in.

"You'll cheat," Chewie pointed out in good humor to Luke, and Leia and even Maranya laughed when Luke told her what Chewie had said. Leia looked at Han hesitantly, timidly, quickly, and then returned to the flimsi. Han's insides thumped.

Chewie thought, and rightly so Han agreed, though he didn't offer his own opinion out loud, that too much of the money raised would go to the printer of the flimsis, the entertainment and refreshments served afterward, the awards and gift bag each participant received.

"Non-profit," Leia informed them. "They get donations. The food will be free, the gift bags. See the list down here thanking these community partners? It's a cheaper form of advertising for the donors."

"Do you know how many Simple Girl and I picked up that littered the streets?" Chewie wanted them to know. "Hundreds. Hundreds, isn't that right Simple Girl?"

Maranya looked from Luke to Chewie and back again and Han flicked his wrist up in disbelief.

"He says you picked up hundreds of flimsis that littered the streets," Luke translated.

That's not how Han would have translated it. That was almost word for word, literal. Han would have said, "Chewie says most beings tossed them aside without looking at them." There was a subtle difference.

Still, Luke continued to say, more beings would learn about Cell Eater's disease, its causes and symptoms, and the race would certainly help cause a rise in beings' concern for their health, and improve the treatment and prognosis down the road. "Trickle down effect," Luke said proudly. "It's hard to measure it, but awareness touches, builds, gradually and sneakily, like the disease itself, until one day, there's a cure."

_More Force nonsense._

"I'll leave it up to you, Luke" Leia said. "If you feel we have the flexibility of departure."

"Yeah, that's just it," Luke said ruefully. "I'm anxious to get to Tatooine. I have no set time frame, but now that I know what's going to happen I want to get started." He turned to Han. "What do you say, Han? You want to do it?"

Han picked himself up from leaning on the threshold and raised his eyes from his boots. He gave himself a second to answer, to try and sound natural. "Only running I do is when someone's chasing me."

"Do you even have shoes," Chewie asked Luke, and Leia's head snapped up, "other than your boots to run a foot race?"

Leia's eyes were on Han's, hers large and brown and dawning and when his heart began another thump he turned away and headed towards the cockpit.

"Shoes," he heard her say.

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The rain and traffic caused a backlog in the Port Authority being able to issue clearances. Their impending departure was like a bubble in Han's chest, growing bigger with the wait until it seemed he would pop. He sat and brooded. The others were still in the lounge, chatting. _Such a homey group._ The thought had crossed his mind so many times already that it was starting to irritate him.

He could join them. He would be welcome to join the conversation if he wanted to. They would accept his participation, take him at face value, but he found he couldn't. Just couldn't. His mouth wouldn't open, words wouldn't come out. They were talking among themselves, and they were on his ship, and he welcomed them and didn't want them to leave, but that was as much as he could give them.

Leia had awakened something in him. Something he wasn't used to. He knew wet socks and he knew being hungry or feeling pain, but this...this thudding in his gut when she looked at him, that thumping in his heart when she was near, he didn't know what that was. It wasn't adrenalin. That he knew, the speeding up of the heart rate, the sweaty palms.

And she'd brought something else to the forefront that he had been avoiding. He couldn't anymore now. Not now, that she... _I know_. That's what stopped his mouth from opening. He'd always been alone, proud of it too, once he forced himself, just a little kid, to stop feeling lonely, stop feeling self-pity. But now he knew, knew out loud. He thought he'd been able to deal with it. By pushing it away. Thought that when he dumped Maranya off on Luke he'd be free, free of it all. But it was growing. Now Leia was part of it. He wasn't about to dump her off. On anyone.

His mind ran over all she had said. The Life Suit, his blood, I know. Of course she knew. His blood was his life. How he almost lost it, or so she said, how it brought her to the point of letting him go. The Life Suit. She wouldn't fight for him? It was to protect her? From him? He shook his head, chasing the thoughts away.

She had some kind of agenda, but he wasn't sure what it was. Maybe she thought she was trying to help him. She hadn't wanted him to respond to her. Or at least not yet. She wanted him to think. She might have a long wait, Han allowed. Thinking was not his strong suit.

"What are you doing?" Han hurriedly closed the map program, straightening to glare at Chewie with a guilty defiance. He sat against the cockpit console and crossed his ankles casually, his fingers curled tightly around the edges. "Actively avoiding you."

Chewie grunted. "I see that. But what else do you think you're doing?"

"Nothing."

"Because we have a charter."

"I know."

"This is not us taking Luke somewhere because he wants to go. We have a charter with him."

"I know, Chewie," Han said resentfully. "I know what a charter is. And I don't need you breathing down my neck about it, either."

"I'm not near your neck. I came in and you're looking at navigational charts. Thinking of going somewhere?"

 _Damn that furry Wookiee._ "We have a charter, remember?" Han sneered, his lip curling.

Chewie recognized the lip curl. Wounded Wookiees did it, too. He never quite understood why. It was as if pain were all-consuming that one forgot who one was, that one was loved, that there was help. The wounded one lashed out: _leave me alone._ "Yes, and you have those coordinates already so I don't see why you need to be looking at charts."

"Han," Luke added his presence to their discussion, "have you thought about -"

Han turned to him in a snarl. The cockpit was growing crowded, and he needed the air. "What," he interrupted Luke before he could finish asking his question.

Luke's brows went up a micron. His mouth remained open, and he waited a breath, looking at Chewie. "I was asking about where we're going to sleep."

"Where you always sleep," Han answered with an impatient shrug.

"Well, last time Maranya was in a bay, remember, that she shared with Doc Brack. Do you still want her in there? We'll have to set it up. But," Luke dropped his voice a notch, "I think she still has nightmares, so we might want her close, so we can get to her."

Han stared uncomprehendingly, stuck at _get to her._ Finally he said, "Fine, then. Take my berth, give her yours."

"What about you?" Luke asked

"Where will you sleep?" Chewie asked at the same time.

Their simultaneous voices, one soft and Basic, the other growling and Shyriiwook, assailed Han's ears. He put a hand to his head. "You two are giving me a headache," he said. "I don't care."

"Should I move a sleeping pallet to a bay?" Luke offered.

"No, I want to be able to hear the _Falcon_ ," Han told him. "I'll sleep wherever."

Luke's eyes lingered on Han a moment and Han got a sense he was being read. It wasn't anything specific Han could name. Almost like a friend asking about the other in concern. It wasn't invasive. It was...nice. Comforting. But all Luke said was, "I'll let Leia use yours. She'll want the privacy."

Luke left and Chewie loomed over Han, pressuring him silently to say something, to address why the navigational charts were out.

"I wasn't thinking of leaving," Han muttered.

Chewie nodded solemnly. "I am glad to hear that. You better not be lying."

Han thought, _But I could leave._ It was a familiar reaction with him. _Fly them, her and Luke and Maranya to Tatooine, and then leave._ He wiped dust off the nav'puter that gathered under the calc tabs. And then what? he asked himself. Luke would be Luke, Leia would be Leia, Maranya would...get better. Because she had them. Somehow that didn't seem fair. He found the thought made him jealous.

_So I'm not leaving. That's something._

_I wore the Life Suit,_ Leia had said. Was she arming herself against him? Because he . _.. I know._

Han slapped his leg. _Fuck._ Every time he got to that part of the conversation he stalled. And like any good pilot he knew a stall could end in a spiral if the pilot weren't careful. I don't want to spiral. So what was it? An ultimatum? She couldn't be with him, love him, because of ... _I know. Fuck!_ No, he decided. This wasn't an ultimatum. She was not saying it's me or Maranya. Because there was no Maranya and she knew that. Nor was she asking him to stay. She knew he would. He would follow her to the ends of the galaxy. It was how he stayed, whether under the bright suns of the desert or in the dark tunnels of the palace, that she wanted to be prepared for.

Communications hailed with their clearance. Han sighed and dropped into the captain's seat.

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The first night of their flight Han rapped lightly on the door of the sleeping quarters Maranya was using. He knocked to give her polite notice, but he was going to use the master override whether she let him in or not.

"Settled in?" he inquired. She was lying on the bunk, not reading, not listening to music, not doing much of anything. Just lying there. _What you see is what you get._

Or maybe she was just lying there, ready to fall asleep. She nodded at him. They'd barely spoken three words to each other since he had visited her in her hospital room. He started to turn away, but there was another reason he had knocked on her door, and it would continue to bother him if he didn't say something. "Listen," he began, and paused, his hand on the doorway. "Are you...finished? Better? Are you past it or do you still need it?"

Her wide eyes fixed on his face. "Need what?"

"The rancor. Feeling like you need to feed it. Are you past that?"

All he got from her was a stare. He was crossing some kind of line; even she recognized it. She was used to people avoiding the topic, avoiding her; wanting to help her and force feed her some happiness. He was the only one who dared ask what everyone was thinking: are you going to try again?

He nodded. "Don't you dare try it on my ship. You understand? Or anywhere else one of them is going to find you."

It seemed impossible for her eyes to get wider, but they did, and undeterred Han kept on her, his voice low and slow and urgent. "You best drag yourself out to the desert and let the buzzards clean your bones if you have to. Just," he shook his head slightly, trying to rein in his emotion, "don't you dare. I'll be so fucking pissed I'll go to whatever hell you're in and personally drag you to Dathomir and feed you to it myself. You got that?"

"You'll drag me where?" she asked, her eyes still wide, the covers drawn higher over her.

Funny she would pick up on that. "Dathomir. That's where the rancor is."

"They moved it?"

The information affected her as much as him apparently. "Yeah. Its native planet." She looked pained, jealous, hurt. Han understood. Rieekan, in his efforts to rid the palace of Jabba the Hutt for the Alliance, had given one deadly, fearsome creature more care and consideration than she got most of her life.

But he held an angry finger up. "Not on my ship. You don't want to piss me off."

She nodded, to get rid of him. "I won't." He wouldn't leave, his face stern, so she repeated it a little louder, a little more forcefully. "I won't."

In Han's cabin, surrounded by the essence of him, Leia listened to the exchange with troubled ears. She tried not to doubt herself. She had done the right thing, but it was a risk that might cost her dearly. _I might lose you._ He was the gambler, not her, and she had no idea what kinds of odds were stacked against her.

But it wasn't hopeless. She'd made her move because she knew Han. He was proud, excessively so. Proud of his self-reliance, too proud to ask for help. He'd grown up without anyone to teach him this, but he'd learned it on his own. He'd developed, too, his own system of ethics, different from others but very clear to him, and she admired the quality that kept him fighting for it. Jabba's sadistic punishment was eating him up from the inside. Day by day he was losing that pride, that belief in himself, and he was acting more and more erratically.

She also knew he was a problem solver, and she thought she had been quite clever to make herself the problem. _I might lose you._ She had, hopefully anyway, transferred his anger and self-recrimination to her. He could solve her; he had already proven he could. Once she had been a little like Maranya, a little like him. She had come close to losing herself, a shattered soul. Han had picked up her pieces, glued her back together, and handed her back to herself, with love and tenderness. Leia knew how dangerous shame and self-recrimination could be. Maranya was a prime example. Now he was afraid, afraid for himself where it concerned her, and as Luke had helped her realize, no one died from fear. _If I lose you then you lose me, Han Solo._

She tucked herself into Han's blanket, and looked around his cabin. It was obvious he hadn't made much use of it as a place to sleep in a while. She had moved his clean clothing off the bed, and the air was dry, stale. There were few personal items, but that was not out of the ordinary on a space freighter. Things had to be stowed or bolted in case the flight got rough. Still, there was something very generic about the cabin, as if he hadn't thought to stamp his personality on it. Basic needs, she thought. _Sleep is a basic need but it didn't get met for him._ She could picture the little boy, shoeless, shivering, hungry; afraid to fall asleep.

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The second night Maranya had a nightmare. Han, hastily gulping down food in the engineering bay, could hear her cry but he let Chewie be the one to tend to her, singing with his second larynx.

So far Han had successfully avoided being alone with Leia or Maranya, and even Luke for the most part, but he wasn't sure how he was going to keep that up for the duration of the trip. He stayed in the cockpit, engrossed in tech manuals for the _Falcon_ and even Chewie gave up on conversation.

Luke emerged from his sleeping quarters, looking sleepy, confused and rumpled, that Han couldn't help a smile.

"What do I hear," Luke said drowsily, blinking in the lights of the bay.

"Maranya," Han answered simply. "Nightmare."

"Oh." Luke nodded in understanding and took a seat near Han. "What are you doing up? What time is it? You can't be on watch still?" Luke squinted at all the screens of the tech desk, trying to at least figure out how long he had been asleep.

"No," Han waved his hand. "Just puttering about. Been a while since I felt the hyperdrive engines through my boots."

Luke smiled and looked at Han's boots. He put his own bare feet on the floor and smiled again. "I see what you mean. Feels like power."

"Power?" Han questioned. He disagreed. "Feels like a well-oiled machine."

Luke made a soft grunt of laughter. He lifted a finger toward Han's boots, pointing out the crackled exterior. "We aren't quite the same, are we?"

"Speak for yourself, Junior," Han huffed good-naturedly. "What about you isn't well-oiled? I figure the Force could fix a lot of ailments."

"Well," Luke considered. "It's more of a pain reliever." He smiled suddenly. "The body is just that; a body. It wears out over time. The Force can't stop that."

"You're a little young to be having aches and pains."

Luke smiled again. "Yeah. I've got a few. Remember I twisted my knee when I missed that rung off my X-wing? And don't tell Leia," his voice fell to a hush and the two men unconsciously moved closer, "but I didn't go to medic after you patched me up when that bounty hunter got me in the hip. It's never been the same."

"Huh." Han fell silent, not knowing what to say. He wasn't sure this was really about aches and pains or a subtle reproach for Han's actions.

"Don't feel guilty," Luke said, as if he could follow Han's thoughts. "You patched me up good, but it was emergency. It's my fault I didn't go."

Han nodded. Alright, it was aches and pains.

"And," Luke continued, "you're the one always saying you don't live in the past."

Han scratched his cheek. Was Luke starting a Force riddle? "What's that got to do with your hip?"

"Do you regret it?" Luke asked him. "I can't see how else I would come to this point. What would make Ben visit me in my sleep and seek out Yoda."

 _What you see is what you get._ Luke was doing it again, trying to find significance in their lives. Maybe he had found it, Han thought. But what about the opposite? What about what you didn't share. The food you took out of someone's hands, never seeing them again. That was a shared experience. If they starved, if it killed them, did that mean it was significant? To die alone in an alley, hungry?

Luke laughed. "Maybe if I was face down in the snow or something. It doesn't seem that the condition of the galaxy was what motivated Yoda and Ben. It was me coming to a dead end."

"Dead end?" Han questioned.

"We spent two days, waiting for you and trying to look for you when you left," Luke explained. "And it was all going to come to an end. Chewie was going to take me and Leia back to Hoth, and he was going to look for you on his own. We made that decision, and then Ben's spirit told me to go to Dagobah." He turned his face to Han, open and honest. "How long do you think it would have taken Chewie on his own to figure out where you were?"

"I don't know," Han sighed, leaning his elbows on his thighs.

"Not long." Luke smiled sadly. "We must have been quite the distraction." He paused thoughtfully. "Sorry you had to wait so long. You could have been killed."

"No, kid," Han shook his head, irritated. "I wasn't waiting. That was the point – distract him, keep him from coming. I wasn't waiting," he repeated. "I didn't want anyone near the place."

"Well, we came," Luke said, a bit of obstinacy in his voice. "And now we're going back."

"Luke," Han started and then stopped. Something was bugging him, this idea of fate, or destiny; Leia talking about how she kneeling in his blood. _Dead end._ "Did...did I... _die_?"

Luke shifted on his seat. "Well -"

"Because Leia, she brings that up a lot."

Luke's eyes were on the men's feet. "I was on the other side of the skiff," he said slowly. "Fighting with Yoda."

"What do you mean fighting?"

"I wanted to handle Vader, my father - at the time I still thought of him as Vader. I wanted to take him on right then and there."

"That's gratifying, I suppose," Han allowed, and Luke smiled. "Thanks."

"Anytime," Luke said seriously. "But Yoda was telling me to get control of myself. Anyway, I wasn't too near you, but when I saw Leia, leaning over you like that, I think, maybe you did."

"And what if I did? Would you be here? Would that be a dead end?"

"You're asking if your destiny was-"

"No, no." Han shook his head, sorry he was so bad at explanations. "No. I don't mean you couldn't have killed the Emperor without me, 'cause obviously you could. I'm not askin' if I was paramount to all this – my ego's not that big - it's not, Luke - just, would the story have played out whether I was in it or not?"

Luke sucked in his cheek. "Maybe. Not the same, obviously. Maybe I'd still be on the _Falcon,_ Chewie piloting."

"The Force doesn't show you that stuff?"

Luke leaned over to shoulder Han. "You don't live in the past, Han." He grew thoughtful again. "There'd be something missing though."

"What?"

"You."

"That's got to be the most obvious statement in the galaxy. Is that supposed to be some form of Yoda speak?"

Luke smiled. "No. It's not, really. If you died, Chewie would be rootless, honorless. Leia would be...well, you know what she'd be like. Your Force strands, your destiny if you want to call it that, helps keep a balance for them."

Han did. "So everything -"

"So every life matters. You're important to them. Everything you are to Leia now wouldn't exist."

But that wasn't what Han was asking. What he meant was everything he had worked towards the past three years would go to waste. And that was a damned shame. _What you see is what you get. Look who's visiting the past._

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The rancor greeted him. "Hi, Han."

"You call me Han."

"Is that not your name?" They were walking somewhere outdoors, and though the rancor still looked like an adorable Wookiee cub this was not Kasshyyk.  

"Thought you'd know me by something else."

"Oh? And what would that be? Fodder?"

"Very funny." The terrain was very rugged, the soil rocky. The plant growth was stunted, clinging precariously to the soil as if by a thread. Han and the rancor strolled towards a valley, Han's boots sometimes slipping on the loose gravel. Ahead of them Han could glimpse a river, with dense underbrush only affording the briefest peek at rushing, sparkling water.

"Why did you come here?" the rancor asked.

"I didn't come here."

"You were looking for me."

"No. You just always show up." Han plucked his sweaty shirt away from his skin.

"I'm not mad at you, you know."

"Why would you be mad at me? I never did anything to you."

"That's just it. I show up to let you know I bear you no ill will. Look at me," the rancor encouraged, "how can you resist me? Aren't I the sweetest thing you've ever seen?"

Han took in the blue eyes too large for the face, the velvety surface of its button nose. He reached out and stroked the wondrously soft pelt. The rancor's body was round and fat, well cared for with a mother's milk. "You're pretty cute," Han allowed.

"I show up because you never gave her to me."

Han was silent.

"You wish you had, now."Han still made no answer."Yes, I see," the rancor continued. "You think it's easier to have so many more than one who was never fed?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do. You think it would be easier. You want to go back and live it all again, just differently. You want your _virtue_." The rancor sneered the word with great irony. "As if you ever had that."

Han couldn't argue with that. "And I would grow fat with your self-indulgent righteousness. You would save yourself, and not them? Now you are all saved."

"But we aren't, not really," Han mumbled, feeling his face flush in the hot sun.

"Well, that's not my problem. That's the price of the After Jabba. Look at me, do you think I like to sleep? Even here, my home? That's why I visit you."

Han was starting to lose track of all the reasons the rancor visited him in his dreams. "But I had to go, right?"

'Yes, you did. No one denies you that. It was the one thing you had to do but it took you too long to do it. And so the suffering was greater."

"Was it? Jabba would have accepted payment if I went back sooner?"

"No, he would have killed you sooner. Without the game."

"But I'm not dead."

"True, but is that better? Sometimes they prefer death."

"Like Maranya."

"Don't you remember dying, Han? You did it so well."

"I did? What do you mean by that?"

"You had love, without all the complications, and then it all went away." The rancor waved his little gentle, clawless hand. "It could still go away, and you'll be alive. Worse, I think."

Han shook his head. He thought of all the things that happened since he was shot. The exhilaration of speeding through the canyons with Luke, the sweet moments lying with Leia, killing the Emperor, surviving down-level. "I don't want to be dead."

"Oh, well then." The rancor was not offended by Han's differing opinion. The pair waded into the river, the water soaking Han's boots and pants leg, rushing by him, threatening to topple him.

"Do you still want her?" Han asked, wondering if he would tell her, or worse, give her up if the rancor demanded it.

"No. I find my own food now. Much more rewarding, don't you think?" The rancor flipped on its back and the rapid stream of water carried him away. "You tell her that, Han. Tell her I have no more hunger."

Han, left walking in knee-deep water upstream, waved clumsily, his arms out to help keep his balance.

He gasped awake, his body giving a tremendous lurch as it reacted in the captain's chair when he fell into the water of his dream.

Chewie, on watch, glanced over at him. "Go find somewhere to sleep," he said. "You're snoring."

Han sat up, looking out the window at the blackness of hyperspace a long moment. Then he looked at the coordinate display. They were not even a third of the way yet. He rubbed his face.

"Go on," Chewie said. "It's my watch."

Han stood, feeling bleary. He headed out the cockpit. "I was swimming," he told Chewie.

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"Leia?" His voice whispered from her dreams, quiet and reverential. "Leia?"

She opened her eyes, still not sure if she was awake or asleep, for there stood the silhouette of Han Solo before her. The figure was blocking the light behind him, but it could only be Han. She thought for sure it was a dream, for the back lighting illuminated him brilliantly, from the glowing edges of his long, lean frame to the strands of hair awry on the top of his head.

"You said the Force comes to you in your dreams." His voice wasn't a whisper, but it was low, almost as low as the hum of the _Falcon's_ engines, quiet and vibrating in a steady hum. She sat up, the cold air on her shoulders and across her breasts as the blanket fell away.

"You said the Force is everything."

Breath came in and out of her haltingly but measured, her lips were parted. She tilted her head slightly to one side, in case he wanted to stride forward and put his warm mouth there.

"Everything, and in everything."

Leia swallowed and sat forward, doubting he could see her thin tank top, the soft heaves of her chest. _Come to me,_ she urged. _I'm ready. Come to me._

"Does that mean me?"

"Yes," she whispered in the darkness. "Yes, Han."

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	63. Chapter 63

Long ago, the monks of the B'Omarr order settled on Tatooine. They were by no means the first humans on Tatooine, nor were they the last.

They aspired only to reach enlightenment. They did not interact with the other communities on Tatooine. They did not proselytize to the Tuskan Raiders; they offered no assistance, spiritual or physical, to the moisture farmers.

But they left their mark on the desert. They built a monastery there, carving chambers out of the bedrock hundreds of feet underground. They quarried stone from the canyons and erected a sprawling compound.

No Tatooinian ever made just a visit. If one went inside, it was to join the monks and never come out. That area of the desert became known familiarly as Bomar, even earning a place name on local maps. Eventually, fervor for the order waned and the number of monks inside dwindled.

When Luke Skywalker was growing up on Tatooine, he knew of the area locals called Bomar. But he never had learned the origin of the name. The monks were long gone. Generations ago, Jabba the Hutt, a non-native, had moved to Tatooine and taken over the monastery, and Bomar was an area to be avoided. The sprawling compound, once a place that inspired monks to achieve the height of spirituality, witnessed the nethermost of lows. Jabba called it his palace, and Tatooinians called it simply Jabba's.

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Luke started in the Throne Room, because it was the biggest and the center of what was Jabba's palace. He noted the sconces that used to hold flame torches, but he only found them by sweeping his lamp over the walls. It was dark in here. Cool, pleasantly so, but dark. Wooden tables once arranged in long rows were pushed all in one area against each other, and another layer was stacked on top. The Alliance must have done that, when they briefly used the place, Luke realized. The sand floor showed footprints, but that was the only clue someone had been in here recently.

Luke lined up the volume taker on the floor at a corner where two walls met and pressed a button. The VT began to crawl, traveling slowly along the length of a wall, a light blinking in regular intervals and something inside it creaking and clicking, like it was thinking. The VT met a corner and the noises became more rapid. Then it followed a new wall. After it had traversed all four, it returned to where Luke had initially activated it, and rose in a steady path until it hit the ceiling. It paused once more, making noise, and then returned back to the floor at a more rapid pace, having finished measuring the dimensions of the room.

Luke squatted to pick up the VT. He pressed a different button and the holographic blueprint of the Throne Room shone from the VT, miniature and exact. Luke typed in a label: 'Room A.'

The renovation of Jabba's palace into the Academy of Force Studies had begun.

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They camped in Room A, sleeping around a fire that also served as their stove. Chewie tended it carefully, using the wooden banquet tables as fuel. They rose early, breakfasting quietly together before beginning the day's work, stopping when Luke measured the suns' descent and hollered out "Let's quit!" They gathered again around the fire, eating, playing cards, talking.

Han was the first each morning to wake. He still wasn't sleeping well. It was comfortable on the floor; that wasn't the reason. They had warm blankets taken from the _Falcon_ and used the sand as their sleeping pallet. He was back at Jabba's, only it wasn't Jabba's, and he was pretty sure he was fine with that. He saw them all looking at him, that question in their eyes, _how do you feel_ but he couldn't even answer for himself. It was a different time, now a different place, not connected at all to each other. Except for being in the same location. But it was in sleep, and in the sand, when times mixed, locations switched. It wasn't the palace that took him back, it was the sand. If he smelled it, touched it, he had to open his eyes and ask _when am I?_

He was the first to get up, and before he set the kaf pot on the fire he liked to go outside and watch the suns finish rising. It was still chilly this time of day, only warming, and goose pimples would rise on his flesh as he ventured out of the shadow of the building and into the light.

It was a fascinating time of day. The suns rose at a different pace. The larger one rose quickly, as if in a hurry, while the other kept a slower, delicate pace. It did amazing things to the sand. Han would sit and wait. Every once in a while, a few grains of sand caught the sun at just the right moment, and they would flash. All it took was a few grains; not a large area. The flash was fast, so fast Han thought his eyes had imagined it, until another one happened. The sand glinted brightly for just an instant, quicker than a heart beat; bright, golden and brilliant. It was like gold jewelry on a graceful neck, turning in the light; like coins changing hands clandestinely, moving from one dark fist to the next, catching the light in the briefest moment when they belonged to no one.

One morning he stood where Luke slept, willing him to wake, looking at his friend's demon-less face, who dreamed of knocking walls down and building new ones.

Luke's eyes popped open, but he didn't seem surprised. He propped himself on his elbow before looking at Han sleepily and then silently, companionably, followed him outside. They sat together, watching the sand greet the day, until finally Luke smiled.

Han was giving him a memory, of patrolling the moisture fields with his uncle. They had always walked rather than take the speeder, because there was something almost sacred about this time of day; one didn't want to disturb it with the noise of manufactured engines. It wasn't hot yet, and one could enjoy the sensation of fresh air. He and his uncle walked in silence, and Luke would watch for the flashes, just minerals reflecting sunlight really; there was a scientific explanation – he had learned it in school; but beautiful, and special. Perhaps unique to Tatooine, he didn't know.

Luke stood, his hand heavy on Han's shoulder as he used it for leverage. He was glad to have shared this with him. "I knew people who'd rather sleep than see this," he told Han. "You're a Tatooinian."

Han watched for another flash, but the light was shifting and soon the suns would be too high. "No," he said, feeling sad, thinking of all that he never was. He realized now that it wasn't jewelry, or coins. The flash was like lightening, gold lightening. He sighed, rising with Luke to head back inside. "No. That's you."

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It was a huge undertaking, this renovation project, but it was Luke's, and he was going to do as much as he could himself. He never had possessed money, really, in all his life. His aunt and uncle gave him a little, just enough to go out with friends. He took on extra chores if he wanted something big, like his Skyhopper, and then that money was spent right away. In the Alliance as a Commander he was entitled to pay, but the Rebellion often struggled for funds, and the joke was that the Alliance let you spend your idealism by fighting.

Since resigning his commission with the Alliance and announcing his intention to form an Academy for Force Studies, he had received generous financial backing. It made him nervous. He knew nothing about fiscal responsibility, and he found his thoughts echoing his uncle's, who regarded anyone's wealth with suspicion.

Leia pored over his accounts with him, and while he let her set aside a budge for equipment, tools and supplies, he refused to allow her to set him a salary.

"I'll be supported by the Academy," he insisted. "I won't need to buy food, because I'll eat here. Same with sleeping – I don't need room and board."

"You treat yourself as if you are the Academy," Leia told him. "You're the founder, or director, or headmaster. Whatever you want to call yourself. And you have a right to an income."

Luke obstinately shook his head. "If it supports me than I support it. I don't need anything else."

"What about clothing? Soap? The building needs to be maintained, and so do you. Are you going to wash your teeth with floor cleaner?"

Luke was beginning to see her point. "Well-"

"And what about clothing? Travel? I'll expect a Life Day present from you, you know. How will you pay for that?"

He pressed his thumb to his other fingers, waving his hand at her. "Okay. Just a tiny, small amount. I really don't need anything. Not even a Life Day present from you."

Leia shook her head, exasperated, but she smiled with affection. "You can't make me feel guilty about this, Luke. It's standard procedure! The Emperor took a salary."

"He did?" Luke quailed. "That's supposed to convince me?"

"I'm just saying, many founders, inventors, etc. benefit society, but can, and some expect to, be highly compensated for their efforts."

"Well, I don't want that," Luke asserted. "And I wouldn't want that for my successors, either."

"Alright, as long as you're clear on your vision. Let's write this up officially, stipulate policy, mission statements, goal objectives."

Luke did have a vision. The most important way this Academy for Force Studies would differ from the Jedi Temple of old was in the way the Force was incorporated. The Jedi had embraced the power it gave them. They harnessed it and made it theirs, losing the ability to learn and grow. _Avail yourself not,_ Luke remembered with sadness, hearing Yoda scold Han, and he couldn't help thinking how things could have been different if Yoda had heeded his own advice.

Luke was not going to use Force to build his Academy, at least not much, and he was certainly not going to flaunt it. He did the work as manually as possible, using Chewie's brute strength or tools designed for the purpose.

He supervised his work crew – Chewie, Han, Leia and Maranya- with deliberate purpose. It was different than how he had come to relate to others since mastering the Force. Han congratulated him on the first day that he'd gone a whole day without Yoda Speak, and Chewie nailed a piece of packaging on a wall, writing _ Days No Force Riddles, while Maranya added a tally mark before they sat down to eat. The Force moved through Luke with utility and practicality, and he relished how ideas came to him while the others helped bring them to fruition.

Han and Chewie were very good with tools and understanding schematics, experience gleaned from all the modifications Han brought to the _Millennium Falcon_ , and Luke valued their input. He himself was also good with tools, and it felt good to rise early, just as he had done with his uncle, and move about the grounds, inspecting, planning and repairing.

Both Leia and Maranya had little practice with hand tools, but they were eager, so helped with reading instructions and assembling new equipment, like wall sconces and sonic cleaners. Much needed to be ordered and shipped as well, and Leia was a big help in dealing with the galactic agencies who would make the Academy a recognized, actual address. He often found Leia and Maranya, heads huddled together over a datapage, ordering sleep pallets, storage units, food. Leia kept track of Luke's funding and spending, a stylus tucked in her hair behind her ear, so that Han sometimes called her Count Leia.

Luke felt content. He was happy to continue along indefinitely with just Chewie, Han, his sister and Maranya, but another thing he had learned was the Force never rested, and that was the point of the Academy anyway. So when Han returned from the port city one day (they used skiffs from Jabba's hangar, which Han kept threatening to overhaul when he got the time, because they were so slow), with a stranger, a human male, Luke had to accede that his Academy was ready to open before he was.

Han had noticed the human male following him through the market, and being Han, had chased him through the stalls and knocked him down. He had then learned the man was a history professor, and had traveled to Tatooine with the idea of asking the Jedi Master for a job. Han had helped the man to his feet, patted him down for weapons, dusted him off, introduced himself as Human Resources, and immediately brought the professor to Luke.

The man had no Force ability, Luke saw, but a life-long enthusiasm for the Jedi order. His degree thesis was based on the idea that the fall of the Jedi could be attributed to their warrior training, which was unnecessary since they were peace keepers and could use the Force to sway opinions and emotions. Luke, having personally known two trained Jedi, three if one counted his father, knew that there was much more involved in their fall, but he enjoyed discussing the Order with the professor by the fire in Room A while the others played Sabacc.

In time, five other beings had found their way to the Academy to study with Master Jedi Skywalker. Two were definitely Force sensitive, and Luke resolved that even if there was still no lighting, walls or furniture, he would begin setting aside teaching time from construction duties.

The day Han hovered the Millennium Falcon over the roof, landing her oh-so-gently with her great weight, only to lift off again a meter high, moving to another section of roof, cracking how many centuries of pressurized, caked sand, just like he'd done when the sand storm ended, Luke was struck with the idea of transformation. This was his third time to visit the palace, the only time he'd stayed. He'd come the first time to help rescue Han and then again when he resigned his commission as Commander in the Rebel Alliance.

Both times, he reflected, it had been an important place in the history of his life. It designated a kind of personal growth. He first came as a learner of the Force, ready to fight for the freedom of a friend. He came again, his powers more developed after confronting his father, determined now to fight for the freedom of all, and he was here, _at last_ he sighed, fully developed, having freed the Force.

"I shall make you a new sign," Chewie declared playfully, as sensitive to moods as he was to odors. _The Force moves through us all,_ Luke reflected, _and Chewie can smell it._ "Future Home of the Academy for Force Studies."

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Leia sometimes came out with Han to watch the suns rise. It was the only time she allowed herself to be alone with him. She settled herself wordlessly next to him after he had taken his usual position on the sand, a blanket wrapped tightly around her, her hands and elbows tucked tightly into her chest for warmth.

She was near enough to feel his body heat but the blanket sent a clear message. His head would move, aware as he noticed her approach, but they both stared ahead and didn't speak. When it was over, she would peck him lightly on the cheek, and make her way silently back inside.

She was glad he came out to watch the suns. She recalled the morning after he'd been shot, when they were preparing to bring him to the medcenter and he'd briefly regained consciousness, how he had sighed in dreamy delirium about Luke's planet being pretty.

Leia smiled as she remembered that, stoking the fire in Room A while the others still slept. _Luke's planet._ He had gone to settle his debt with Jabba, but it had always been Luke's planet. How had they ever doubted him, that he would just leave like that?

It was a good sign that he felt connected to the desert, to the suns. He worked hard helping Luke transform the palace, very hard. Almost as if he were afraid to be idle, as if cutting sky windows in the roof and throwing tables on the fire helped him heal; as if changing the outside could change what lurked inside him.

She wouldn't allow an opportunity for them to be alone together, except at suns rise, and that was over very quickly. Not yet. He was tender, fragile, too unsteady yet. But when she was caught up on Luke's paperwork she found ways to offer her support. She held his ladder, passed him hardware, let him know she and Maranya were working together. She ached to touch his forearm, to feel the warmth and strength underneath, but willed herself not to.

There would never be an understanding of what had transpired here for her. It would probably torture both Han and Maranya the rest of their days. But somewhere there had to be a reconciliation, an understanding that it was Jabba's depravity, not theirs. That their forced participation did not make them twisted, hateful beings.

Her heart broke as she watched them, reading into their own hearts, seeing herself. They were awash at sea, going under, gasping, coughing, reaching for flotsam as it floated by, cold, the shore near but unreachable. All of them. He had been her lifeline, that strong, wonderful arm, and she would wade back in, risking everything, to save him.

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Han couldn't take it anymore. He was not a man to sit still. And so even though he was doing something – namely piloting a skiff through the desert- he felt the craft could take more credit for the activity than he could. He had coaxed enough speed out of it that his hair was doing something, blowing back off his head, but the rest of him had little to do.

There was zero chance he would collide with anything right now, not unless a Krayt dragon was going to come swooping out of the sky, so he moved away from the shade awning over the helm and back to the maintenance hatch.

He'd have to ask Luke what color Krayt dragons were. Probably the answer was yellow. Everything else certainly was. The sky, the suns, the sand. Even the heat. It shimmered in little waves all over, blurring edges, dissolving visibility.

His hand opened the control panel and he removed it quickly, hissing as the hot wood burned his fingertips. _Wouldn't you know it,_ Han's dark eyes scanned the desert accusingly, wondering if it was really the joker it seemed to be, _even the wires are yellow._

He shut the panel with his sleeved elbow, sucking on his fingers to ease the burn, and quickly sought to find his black boots to fight the feeling of having lost all sense of direction. The desert was like entering an anti-gravity chamber, where you tumbled head over heels in all directions. The game they played in Aeronautics class at the Imperial Academy had been to tumble about with eyes closed, then pick a surface when the timer clanged a warning that gravity would be restored. Cadets plummeted to the now sure, known ground from ceilings and walls, and any who had taken a lucky guess and remained standing bought a round of drinks.

He didn't mind making the trips into Mos Eisley for Luke. He picked up supplies, checked on the _Falcon,_ enjoyed being part of the crowd. He had only been on his ship once since returning Luke to Tatooine, and that was to clear the roof of the palace of sand. Luke wanted to incorporate the suns into the architecture of the Academy of Force Studies, and had cut numerous holes in exterior walls, as well as designed sky windows, which could be covered by a sliding panel which could be swept of sand.

His charter with Luke was over, and Han found himself as free as this endless sea of sand.

It didn't usually bother him, this openness, this freedom of movement. But it did today.

Often he found himself in that situation, between jobs. He usually had no idea where he was headed next, as long as he had money to get him there. He operated moment by moment, day by day. Get a job, fly somewhere, get paid, spend the money. Do it all again.

It bothered Chewie, who always had a suggestion about what else they could do with their pay, other than drink it, gamble it, or put it back into the _Falcon_ , but Han was just happy to be paid and alive and free, and he would look for more money when this batch ran out. He was always looking for more money.

Maybe it had something to do with the view, the bright, nagging, yellow; maybe the constant nothing was rubbing off on him. Maybe all that openness was messing with him, symbolizing some Force riddle _your life is laid out before you._

Yellow. The sky, the suns, the sand, even the heat were all one word, one description. Deliriously, Han thought, Everything is yellow.

 _It's everything. In everything._ Leia's voice floated inside the sandy breeze, and Han thought of the twins waiting for him, of the twins at the apex of the sky, burning everything to yellow. _The Force is yellow, then_ , he told the desert, wondering if he had made some great discovery, like Leia did when she thought about things, or if he had made some bad joke. _You were the Force, in my dreams,_ Leia had murmured, _and you were everything._

"Guess I'm yellow, too". He decided to spend the rest of the journey thinking about how he could spend the money earned from Luke's charter. He wasn't going to drink it, or gamble it; not in the near future anyway. Luke and the renovations took up most of his time.

That left the _Falcon_. _Could use stronger shields._ But a voice in his head answered _what for? The war is over._

 _Guns then, for the turrets. They reload too slow._ Again that voice responded slyly, _space lanes are safer now. You don't need them. How about a new console board,_ it suggested.

Irritated at having a conversation in his head, Han negated the suggestion. _I like that board. I can fly the ship with my eyes closed._

He made a mental walk-through of his ship. In the cockpit he put a new nav'puter on the list, though there was nothing wrong with the one he had, and a new seat for Chewie. In the lounge, he wondered if a new gaming table might be a good idea. _Maybe everyone's tired of holochess._

He'd done a diagnostics recently, from the engineering bay. The ship was in sharp condition, and any time he thought of a systems upgrade there was that snide voice, shooting him down. The galley though – several pieces of equipment were outdated in there.

In the crew quarters, Han thought he could build a few walls, like Luke back at the palace, so that there would be more privacy for any that joined a flight. And more comfortable mattresses.

Han reviewed his options. Ahead, he could barely discern the jaundiced lines of the new Academy site from the shimmering heat waves. _Seat, gaming table, beds, walls, cooker...what the hell? All I'm thinking of is improving living conditions._

Han docked the skiff in the hangar and vaulted over the edge, heading towards Room A to grab the repulsor cart and take the roof panels up for installation.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Han heard Luke call out, "Let's quit!" but he still had some bolts to remove.

"Lift it up," he instructed Maranya. "As much as you can. Gotta keep the hinge level or it'll jam."

Maranya positioned herself at the door's edge, bending her knees and placing her hands under the lip of the door. She heaved, and Han could hear her pant with the effort.

"Just one more," he encouraged, placing the bolt between his teeth. "Need a rest?" he asked as carefully as he could, the bolt in the way of his tongue.

"No," she gasped in answer and he hurried to finish. Then he had it, and he let the last bolt fall to the floor and spat the other one out of his mouth. "Move your fingers," he ordered. "It's coming down."

She stepped back and Han pushed his palm on the wall in case the door was going to fall completely forward and his ladder would have nothing to lean on. But the door merely dropped, a little anti-climatically, Han felt, but it was good enough.

They looked at each other. "Chewie can burn that one, too," Han said and Maranya nodded decidedly.

Han descended the ladder and walked to the hole that had been cut previously into the exterior wall for a window. The suns were low in the sky, dividing the horizon into orange and yellow.

He turned around. The late afternoon light filled the room as he'd never seen it before, and he could make out each mark on the wall Maranya used to mark time. He grabbed two bottles of water and sat down in the sand, patting it beside him, indicating Maranya could join him. They sat side by side in their old cavernous cell, she imitating his position, legs drawn up, elbows resting on their knees. Their shirts were sweaty, dirty.

"Looks different, doesn't it?" Han remarked.

"It does," Maranya agreed. "Feels different, too." She sipped water leisurely, something she was never able to do in her previous life here. "I'm glad I came back."

"Are you?"

She nodded. "You were right, what you said before. It was my home. So I did miss it. In a way, not like you think -"

Han interrupted her with a shake of his head. "That was wrong of me, to-"

"No, I know." Maranya had forgiven him, the moment the horror of realization struck Leia when Maranya told Leia about her role in Solo's punishment. It was what Maranya saw now, when she thought of Solo. She saw Leia, who loved him.

"But it was my home," she continued. "I hurt here. I was scared here, but when I was away, some strange part of me missed it. I missed the sand," she stared over at her tally marks. "I even missed my wall. You know? That was my wall."

She looked over at Solo, sensitive about setting him off. He was quiet, turning his bottle of water with his fingers, boring it into the sand.

"Is that wrong? To miss my wall? To wonder what would happen to it when I was gone?"

Han took a deep breath. "I'm no counselor," he said, an ironic grin forming crookedly in his face. "But, it sounds to me like," he thought of Leia and how she talked about Alderaan, like it was more than a planet, a place; that it was a home, even more than that, it was something she shared her life with, brought her life into. "Like, the palace was something that you thought of kind of like a family member? It wasn't part of sexing and beatings, but -"

"Yes, yes," Maranya felt an excitement grow in her. "It offered itself when I needed to sleep. It gave me sand, and my wall. And Jabba was inside it. The rancor. Terrible things happened in it too, and maybe it was scared and afraid and hurt, too."

She stopped, embarrassed. She must sound like a child, her speech exaggeratedly simple, to someone like Solo.

But he kept turning his bottle, his mouth pursed thoughtfully. "Maybe it was," he said.

She wanted to ask him if he felt that way, too, but she thought he might say no, since he was working so hard to change the palace's appearance.

It made her ask herself, if she minded that Luke wanted to change the palace so much. Her palace. "Do you think Luke will let me keep my wall?"

Solo shrugged. "Do you still need to mark time?"

"No. But I want to remember it."

Solo nodded, considering her answer with a seriousness he had not shown her before, and she found they were having a real conversation. "I bet he'll let you keep it. He's a pretty nice guy."

Maranya smiled gently. "He is." Luke was going to use the palace as a new place; it would have a new life, just like she would. He was even taking time to help make it look better, and thereby it would feel better.

The palace belonged to Luke now. But he would be a friend to it.

There were still many things she had trouble understanding, but she was beginning to understand Friendship and Belonging here; working for Luke because he asked her to, because he wanted her to. Because she wanted to.

"Luke brought me back so I could heal. I belong here," she told Solo. "I wouldn't. Or I would die if I came back on my own, both of us would, the palace and me, but since Luke is here I belong here. With a capital B." She flushed as Solo turned his head to face her, surprised by what she said, surprised by his reaction, trying not to laugh.

"Chewie is teaching me to read," she said meekly.

One huff of laughter escaped. "I know," he said.

"If it's a capital, it's important," she explained.

"You know Chewie is no authority on the Basic language, don't you?" He was still chuckling, lightly, and she knew he was thinking of Chewie cutting cards out of pieces of packaging, drawing the alphabet, teaching her to read Basic by the fire.

His mockery did not phase her. She enjoyed her lessons, and she saw it was one more example of friendship. "You are ahead of me," she said.

"How so?" he asked.

"In healing. Luke said you need to, too. But you are ahead of me because you already have Belonging and Friendship. They came to rescue you."

"Huh," was all Han said, deciding not to be angry with Luke for talking about him to her. He looked out past the hole in the wall, the future window. The suns were low enough and darkness would fall soon, layered as the big one disappeared first beyond the horizon, leaving the smaller one to shine a delicate white light. He could discern the line now, where the horizon ended and the sky began.

This desert time was was not disconcerting and it struck him forcefully what had been bugging him about the wide open nothing. The future, his future. _With a capital F,_ his inner voice said.

Before, when he visited the planet as a cocky smuggler, inconsiderate of his debt, he'd been unreachable. It never bothered him to jet off without a care because he never considered that he had a future.

As a child, society hadn't wanted him and wouldn't have cared if he died. He thought he had found a future with the Academy, but it was theirs they wanted him to own, and when he saw how they treated Wookiee slaves he threw that future away. A part of himself never let go of those feelings he learned as a child, that he was worthless, much like Maranya didn't let go of her palace. He had lived his life without Belonging, not recognizing Friendship.

But the desert had seen him in several aspects. Cocky smuggler was one, but so was the struggling prisoner and injured refugee. There was one more, Han recognized, one that had appeared very briefly, until he had to sacrifice it for another.

That aspect was friend. Han had hiked through the desert, heavy in his heart, knowing his time had run out, sorry as he entered Jabba's palace; sorry never to fly his ship again, sorry to abandon his partner, sorry to never see his two friends again, Luke and Leia.

So. He finally had a future. Not just a day-to-day life, but something he could plan, look forward to.

He turned back to Maranya, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. "They did rescue me," he admitted.


	64. Chapter 64

Luke turned a slow circle. The dungeon where the rancor was kept was flooded with light. The sand was damp, cold, but smooth. Chewie had raked it clean; removed bones, bits of clothing. Han had dismantled the iron grating that penned the creature in a space too small for it. This area, where he was standing, was the feeding room.

Luke walked to the wood molding Han built over the threshold between the two rooms. He had scavenged from tables and doors and brought tools from the _Falcon_ to thin the wood pieces and cut it to size. The wood was polished, smooth. Sanded, Luke saw. The work was quality, well done. _He's leaving,_ Luke realized.

The Force, his constant companion, moved around the walls, the floor; a ghost of terror. Cleaning the room had calmed the Force spirits of the victims; in a way it was taking care of the dead. They just wanted to be acknowledged. Luke was active; he felt the past, the weight of the terrible history of the place, but he would not let himself see what was to be. There was only what could be; nothing was certain. _I won't look._

He felt the Force in him, but he also was in it, among it, part of it. He was the Force. _The Force is everything._ He was humbled. He felt small. The Force was awake.

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Leia finally found Han in the skiff hangar. She'd been looking all over for him, and went in there just to check to see if he'd taken one out. A maintenance hatch was open on one, and she heard a metallic rattling. Closing her eyes, she cast out her senses and smiled.

She wasn't very good with the Force yet, but she knew Han. She thought she would be able to pinpoint his sense from anywhere; like honing in on a grain of sand in the desert or a star in space.

He was running out of things to do. The Academy had lighting, climate control, sonics in the sleep chambers. He had, only half-seriously, offered to install quad lasers on the roof and Luke had laughed in answer.

Leia did not like the skiffs. She hadn't been out over the desert since arriving, except for the trip from the spaceport, and that was in a speeder. She didn't know which made her vaguely upset, whether it was the desert itself or the skiff. Somehow it was connected to life and death. Inside the Academy walls she felt safe and secure, but thoughts of venturing out made her feel vulnerable.

Last time on a skiff, blood had been drawn and blood had spilled. Her own blood, connecting her with her father; flowing inside her, ruining her. Han's blood, his life and love, irreplaceable. The skiff had shown her life and death and she wasn't comfortable with either of what was offered her.

But she was comfortable with what Luke had accomplished. Leia could not deny it; he had made sweeping changes to the place everyone now called The Academy. Chewie told her he heard people talking about it in the Mos Eisley market. It was so much more liveable now. So much nicer. Aesthetically pleasing. She liked the view from the wall of windows he installed. She liked how the lighting system revealed bands of minerals in the ancient bedrock. She went to the rooftop at night, where she heard the call of animals: bantha and dewbacks and raebbaers. There were rooms that were studious, serious. Rooms that were comfortable, even others that were stimulating and playful.

Luke was tireless, full of vision. The young man that had bustled into her cell long ago, his only thought to be a hero, had grown into all things. She never had suspected he could be contractor, administrator, teacher, Jedi Master, friend, brother, healer.

It was the simple things that made her nostalgic, and even a little sad for Luke. After she selected furnishings for rooms, he pored over her choices, sometimes changing a color, a fabric. He was lost in the Academy, to where it had become him and he it. When she looked for his sense he was all over the building, everywhere. The Force was everything and Luke was part of that. If he were a grain of sand in the desert, she thought, or a star in space, she might have trouble discerning which was him.

"Han," she called, a noise bringing her back to the present.

"Yeah?" she heard his voice drawl but she waited until his head emerged from the hatch. His vest was off, his shirt sweaty and dirty. Luke had decided the skiff hangar would not have a climate system.

"We have to do something about Luke," she stated without preamble.

Han's brow creased a bit. It occurred to him he was the only being where she never tried diplomacy. Just came right out and said it. Princess on a mission. "What's the matter with Luke?"

"Nothing," she said hastily. _We're losing him._ "I shouldn't have said 'about. I mean 'for'. He's been giving his all to this," she realized she almost said 'his', "academy, and I want to do something for him."

"We've all been giving our all," Han countered. His brow remained furrowed as he thought back over the past days, wondering if he'd missed a sign. 

"I'm worried about him," she said.

"Maybe it's stress," Han suggested. "We can make him leave for a night or two. Go off-planet."

"I want something for him here, for when we're gone, somewhere he can be just Luke, and nothing else."

Han nodded. He wasn't worried about Luke and he thought he was fairly perceptive since it helped with gambling and other cons. The only thing he could point to was his own behavior, because he made sure to give Luke a very thorough explanation of the things he installed, how much work it was and the difficulty the job posed, as if he needed to show Luke his blood, sweat and tears would always be a part of the Academy. "Got an idea?" Something told him she had a definite idea.

"Yes. But I'll need your help."

He pretended to consider it. "Alright," he said finally. "Let me finish this up. Come up here. You can tell me while I work."

"What are you doing?" she asked as she climbed aboard.

"Just giving it the old Solo touch. Performance upgrade."

"Let me guess. They'll go faster? You'd put in hyperdrive if you could." Then maybe Vader wouldn't have caught us.

She watched him as he worked. His concentration was on the task in front of him, and she understood with a jolt why he embodied the Force in her dreams. He was real, sure; the here and now. Things she had once found fault in him the Force exemplified. No thought to the future, to what could be; few thoughts to the past, of what had been done. Sorrow was the past and fear was the future.

Entranced by the rise and fall of his chest, his breathing as rhythmic as when she and Luke mediated, the glow of his skin exposed by his open collar. She wanted to wrap herself up in his moment, his _now-ness_ , not be sad or afraid.

She wanted love. She wanted connection. Things she had lost when her home was destroyed. Simple things, essential things, ripped from her. _I lost everything_ echoed into a discovery: _The Force is everything. Maybe, for a time, I lost that too. And it took Luke to return it to me._ Maybe that was why she was not as comfortable as Luke with the Force. Maybe, as orphan of the galaxy, she resided outside the Force for a time. No wonder the orphans were in trouble, she reflected. Denied love and connection. It was worse than rejection. They were denied the acknowledgement of shared existence.

She decided it was time. Time to cement a connection she wanted so badly. She cleared her throat and ventured delicately, "have you thought about what I said?"

"You mean...then?" he said, waving a screwdriver as if it could point to a moment in time. He turned his wrist, and Leia watched the screw disappear into metal. "Yeah, I have," he allowed carefully.

She knew he had. He'd thrown himself into helping Luke, as if in rebuilding the palace he could rebuild himself. They all wielded tools, broke things down, put things together, but there was an extra layer to Han's work; a quietness, thought. If he'd been alone he would just fly, through blackness of space, and he wouldn't change, wouldn't grow. And he knew it. But in serving Luke, helping him, each project he undertook added to himself, and gradually, he took shape.

"And?" she asked. She put her hand on his wrist, felt his pulse under her fingertips. Her eyes went to the deck, remembering the blood. _Life and death._

"I've thought..." _Oh hells, just say it._ "There's no way you could lose me," he said, swinging his legs up and sitting to face her. "No way. Ever. You may not want me, but -"

"I want you."

He shook his head. "No, Princess. I doubt it. Not with...not the way-"

"You want me, don't you?" she said, squeezing his wrist now so that he looked into her eyes. A look crossed his face, of disbelief.

"Don't you know by now?" he said plaintively.

"Yes, I do. I do, Han. I know who I am. I know who I was." She pressed her lips together. Remembering that Leia, the one who was full of love and light, and innocent, so ironically, awfully, innocent. When she thought of that Leia, she wanted to go back in time and scream a warning, she wanted to hurl her bitterness at her, she wanted to hug her and let her know in the end that this is what she would become.

She would never be that Leia again. "The one you never knew. You know me now, you know sometimes I can't even swallow for knowing who I have become, and yet that's who you want. You want me, the one I am now."

He touched the fingers of her free hand. "I do," he said.

"I would love for you to have met me," she continued. "The woman I was. But, who knows," and she laughed in irony, "maybe you wouldn't have looked twice."

"I wouldn't have looked twice?" Han said incredulously. "Of course I would have looked. I'm a man and you're a beautiful princess. It's Princess Leia of Alderaan who wouldn't have looked at me twice," he said, a note of sorrow in his voice. "I didn't move in her world. Now, Princess Leia, orphan of the galaxy, she'll have a dance with me."

She smiled ruefully. "You didn't move in her world, that's true. And that's too bad. If I could tell her now, I would tell her. I would tell her not to turn her back on anyone. I would tell her everyone deserves a chance. I would tell her that even someone like a smuggler might be worthy of her love. And Galactic Orphan Leia would certainly dance with Captain Solo, another orphan, the one who did not feed the rancor."

She thought she might have gone too far as he dropped his gaze, to remind him, put a name to it, even if it was a gentler euphemism, but it was important he understand. The Force had Han come to her in a dream and tell her he loved everything about her; the good with the bad; Han Solo the man deserved that from her as well.

"I'm ready to leave," she told him.

"Yeah, me too. It's getting to the point I'm hanging pictures for Luke."

Her eyes glittered with need. "Where are you headed?" she asked tentatively, still fearing that she would not win the connection she craved. Leia knew intellect, the ether; Han was places in time. It was wonderful to finally be more open about their feelings for each other, but was it too little, too late? They could be together, but could they be together, Han-style, in a place and time?

He threw his arms out, embracing the view out the skiff hangar door. "I'm as wide open as this desert," he said. He looked sidelong at her, hesitant, as if he wanted to invite himself along with her. "What about you?"

"I want to work," she said. "I walk around this building, knowing what it was used for, knowing what happened. I see Maranya here, and the place is transformed, and she can live here, it can be a home."

Her eyes took in the desert. A symbol of freedom for some, maybe Han; for her it was infinite in its capacity to cause suffering, much like the countless beings oppressed under the Empire. "I'm not a Senator anymore, but you know, politics isn't the answer to everything. Before I was born, when my father was a Senator in the Old Republic, you had no shoes. And you were hungry."

Han looked puzzled. "Not your father's fault. Wasn't his world."

"That's not my point, Han. Your world had a Senator, and he tolerated those scam orphanages. He just averted his eyes." _Didn't look twice._

If it was simply a matter of the Force, Leia thought she could fix it. But it was so much more than that, so complicated. The Force was basic existence, and beings had evolved from it to being able to fashion things outside of the Force. Simple concepts like right and wrong, good and bad, those were the Force. Societies weren't only about good and bad; they judged on not good enough. _Maybe Luke is right. Maybe it is the Force, untwisting, unbalanced._ She shook her head, again amazed and worried for Luke. It hurt her head to think of all this but he could grasp this, separate all the factors. At best she managed a flash of insight and then it got all jumbled together, frustrating and confusing her.

"I've been reading up on Corellia," she continued, "the Senate and world culture in general. Not one piece of legislation, Han, to help kids like you. I came across travel articles, warning visitors about getting robbed from street people in the cities. Complaints, warnings about the situation, but no attempts to change it, except for rounding up the kids and placing them in homes. The problem comes full circle."

Her eyes swung back to Han's and she gave him a smile. He was an intoxicating mixture of lawlessness and ethics, operating both outside the law and above it. He was an outlaw helping addicts obtain illegal drugs, and she understood and agreed with the law in that case. But he also was a duty-bound naval pilot who rejected the accepted norm of slavery and had the guts to do more than take a stand.

"I want to work," she repeated. "I want to make a difference. But, I don't really need a home base. GOAL's office is on Coruscant, and of course I'll be there some but I want to be where our projects are, helping, and just…touching. Seeing what's going on, what's happening."

"A princess," Han said.

She found she enjoyed that aspect of her position the Rebellion, as the princess without a world. She liked getting off base, travelling, seeing how the Empire affected others first hand, not just her; seeing how the societies fought and struggled. The loss of Alderaan had given her tremendous empathy. It was something beautiful from something awful, and it was bittersweet. She had to lose one to gain the other, and as she looked back on her life she wondered if it was ever possible to be able to have both without the cost.

Leia sighed. "I suppose." But, she reminded herself, she couldn't go back. She had changed, and that was that. She was no longer a princess with a world, only in name, and if that was so than she would be a better one. "My mother used to visit the orphanages and the sick. She was sincere, but she didn't do it often. It was staged, scheduled. A morale booster, I think, for everyone. If it really meant something to her she'd have gone more often, don't you think? I am going to use my position, my station, influence, power; whatever you want to call it. I am going to use it, not for my people," she stopped, thinking _I don't have anymore people,_ "but for those that have never had anyone."

"Orphan princess," Han tried again.

"Yes. Because they deserve someone. And yes, because I am one."

"No home base, though, huh?" he said, picking up on something she'd said before.

"I'll need a pilot," she invited, "to take me all those places. You can still get shipping jobs if you fly me, right?"

He shrugged, still feeling totally open. He'd told Luke long ago he didn't believe in a destiny. He'd followed his impulses and that's how his life happened. Luke might call it destiny but to Han it was just chance. He still wouldn't call it destiny, but he knew something was going to come along and point him in a direction. No, it wasn't destiny. It was Han belonging somewhere; waiting; wanting to live his life for something, for someone.

"Would you be able to return to Corellia?" Leia broke into his thoughts. "If GOAL takes it on as a project?"

"What about the Lurkers?" he asked.

"That project is going well," Leia answered smugly. "The Coruscanti Assistance Agency has agreed to take it over. We asked them before we started it and they refused, but now it's theirs. GOAL is going to fund fifty percent of the operating budget for two years, and then Coruscant will assume complete control."

Impressed, Han asked, "Are the Lurkers...you know, changing?"

Leia lifted her palm. "I've heard they have come to accept aid. They come out during a drop and just take the food, then go away to eat it. But they aren't threatening to the aid workers."

"Well, that's something," he allowed, selfishly glad he wouldn't have to return to make drops. "You're interested in Corellia because of me?" he asked, uncertain whether he should be flattered that she cared or annoyed that she pitied him.

She shook her head. "Not you the man. You the boy. Someone I didn't know."

"But the boy grew into the man."

"Yes, and I wouldn't want the man to be anything other than he is." She flapped her arms in frustration. "I don't know how Luke does it. I think about if someone did for you then what I aim to do for the children now, then we wouldn't have met. I wouldn't ever know you. And it makes me wonder what wonderful Han Solo child is down there now that will never become you because I changed his circumstance. And it makes me wonder if I shouldn't interfere, just let things unfold."

"What does Luke say?"

"He says to do nothing is to do nothing."

"Force riddle, huh?" Han gave it some thought. "I don't get it."

She smiled ruefully. "I don't either. The one thing I do know is that I used to be very impatient with Yoda, thinking of him wallowing in his swamp all that time, knowing something was wrong and not doing a thing about it. So, maybe a princess won't meet her scoundrel in the future, but maybe the scoundrel will go to school and get a good job, and not be such a scoundrel and maybe they'll both find love and happiness, just not with each other. I can live with that. Can you?"

"I suppose" he said uncertainly. "Put me on your payroll as a consultant. I know street kids," he contended. Then he sobered, thinking of Chewie, knowing it would never just be the two of them, he and Leia. "I said I'm as open as the desert. But not in a good way. I could go any direction, and I don't know which one, and it makes me confused. The only thing I've come up with is Chewie. What do you think about visiting Kashhyyyk?"

Her open, wondering mouth told him she hadn't thought about it at all. "'Cause, the fur ball, he hasn't been home in a long time," Han added sheepishly.

"I'd love to see Chewie's homeworld," she gushed quietly. "I want to." She felt chastised, subdued. "I feel bad I hadn't thought of it," she confessed. "Selfish." She looked at Han, a question in her eyes. "One Rootless to another?"

"In a way," Han answered. "He's a Rootless with a home, and you're a Rooted without one. He told me so himself, he wants you to have his." He watched tears spring into her eyes. "You're going to have to learn to climb trees though, if you take him up on it."

He won his intended effect and smiled as she laughed. Leia moved in to kiss his cheek, a thanking kiss, but as her lips felt the warm roughness of his stubbled jaw she moved to his mouth and kissed him differently.

"What's Luke gonna do without us?" Han wondered when they parted.

"Let me tell you what I have planned," she said, and settled into a more comfortable position.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Luke tried, but Han refused to fly to Sullust for Luke and pick up C-3PO. The idea of the prissy droid traveling with him awoke his stubborn streak and there was nothing Luke could say to convince him. The best he could do was get him to take the skiff into the port city to meet him.

C-3PO was arriving to help Luke get a hold of the administrative duties the Academy demanded. Luke wasted a few moments worrying for his droid. He pictured him disembarking from his shuttle flight, part of the leg of the journey arranged graciously by personnel on the Sullust base, finding it odd if no one was there to meet him.

If C-3PO had to travel on his own, he would be lucky to arrive in one piece, Luke thought. He'd been picked up by scavenging Jawas last time he was unattended. For that matter, he might be lucky to arrive in one piece after sailing across the desert with Han.

Those thoughts occupied Luke as he watched Han detail how Luke could engage the power booster in the skiff motor once Han finished installing it. Then he turned and left, thinking it wouldn't help to insure the droid's arrival.

He found Leia in his office, located on the fourth level, set off a suite of rooms Luke was now using for personal use and for which he also intended to hold meetings with students, staff, and Council.

She was at his desk. She had not staked off any territory of the Academy as her own. She bunked with Maranya, worked in his office, and made sure to use all the rooms; not designate a favorite or retreat to one that the others would call 'Leia's'.

Luke had noticed that Leia was doing less work for him. She was far from idle, back in deliberations with GOAL. He couldn't help but overhear her comm calls, and had a vague idea they were planning an event, but what it was specifically he couldn't say. _I'm losing her, too._ He had too much of his own work to pay attention to.

It was un-Force like, all this paper work and administration. Luke didn't care for it at all. If it was a mark of progress in civilization, then Luke didn't want it. He liked the primitiveness of the Force, the give and take, the way beings interacted through the Force and each other, rather than bypassing contact.

Setting up an institution of learning was an expensive endeavor, and Luke was grateful for his backers. But, he did not want to be dependent on their money. As soon as everything was paid for he resolved to take a different approach to the local economy. They would do what they could for themselves here, by themselves, but what they couldn't get they would barter goods and services.

It seemed like an honest, good plan to him, and, as he whistled his way to the fourth level he hoped he wasn't being too naive. One thing about Tatooinians, he thought: they are adaptable. They had to be, to be able to live here.

His desk was beautiful; at least he thought so. The base was made by Chewie. He had cut a sand stone column in four pieces, and carved the image of a vine winding its way up each leg. The carving was his signature, Chewie explained, a reminder of Luke's Wookiee friend from Kasshyyk. _When Han leaves that means he's leaving, too._ The surface was one of the old paneled wooden doors that kept slaves locked in their cells during Jabba's reign. Luke appreciated the chance to undo a wrong and make it a right. That's what the desk meant to him.

 _Leia, may I talk to you?_ he said through the Force.

She looked up. He was steps away, and yet he had used the Force to communicate. "Was that Force intercom?" she asked, raising her brows archly.

He smiled. "Yes. Are you busy?" He noted the stylus in her hand, several datapages open, but she had been looking out the window.

She looked down at the items scattered around the desk and shook her head, blinking at them. "Not really," she said. "There are some invoices here you need to go over."

"Meh," he said unenthusiastically, and she laughed. "3PO's due in today," he told her.

"Oh, I see," she said tartly. "Nice management style, Luke."

He laughed. "You see right through me. No, I wanted to ask you a favor."

"What?"

"Will you go with Han to Mos Eisley today to meet 3PO? You know how he feels about him, and Chewie isn't any better."

"Oh, Luke," she sighed. "Be real. They are not going to harm him. He belongs to you; they know that."

"Chewie's not able to go," Luke explained. "And I know Han won't shoot him, much as he threatens. But I wouldn't put it past him to reprogram him while he has nothing to do on that skiff ride." Leia and looked skeptical. "And it would be good for you to get out,' he added. "You've kept yourself cooped up in here."

"I wouldn't call it 'cooped up'," Leia argued. "It's a big place. I can't get over how you've changed it." So Luke had noticed her behavior. Did he sense her apprehension, she wondered? Han and Chewie made numerous trips for various things. Luke and his tiny band of first-semester students and instructor took the skiff to the canyons. Even Maranya had been to market. Chewie spent some of his share of Luke's charter on her and taken her shopping.

Luke gestured toward the windows. "This is where we started," he told her, meaning how they came to rescue Han and everything that came in succession, but also meaning their father, Anakin Skywalker, and how the desert had shaped the young boy who grew up to become a Sith Lord.

Leia walked to a window. From the fourth level above ground it truly was a commanding view. Luke had chosen this particular wall for the windows because the canyons were visible in the distance. Luke may have felt the significance of their father's origins here, but it was toward their father's end that he preferred to see.

"I still question the Force a lot," she confessed.

Luke nodded. "I know."

"It could have taken care of the balance then," she said. She lay awake at night wondering why Anakin Skywalker had lived. Why he had been allowed to grow up. He was a slave; he must have had a rough life. Conditions must have been harsh; the mortality rate among desert slaves was probably very high. Yet Anakin Skywalker had lived. And to some extent, thrived.

"You're mixing it up," Luke told her gently. "It wasn't Tatooine's duty to let Anakin die, just let him perish somehow. Would you have wanted Corellia to decide that about Han?"

She shook her head. "No," she murmured. "Of course not."

"Don't blame the desert, Leia," Luke cautioned tenderly. "The Force didn't get out of balance just because he was born. _He_ caused it. _He_ did it. Please?" he brought their conversation back to its original topic. If Leia was working up to leaving, and Han was leaving, he wanted to make sure their Force strands stayed entwined. "Will you go with Han?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Han blew his cheeks out against the wind of the skiff's acceleration and felt his lips chap in the heat.

Automatically, he reached into his pocket and applied salve without even conscious awareness he had done it.

But his nose wrinkled as the scent of the herbal mixture reached his nostrils. He glanced over at Leia, who sat near the edge of a bench under the shade awning, swinging her legs, her feet not quite touching the deck of the skiff. He grinned to himself, reminded again how often he forgot how small she was.

Her gaze was miles away, literally and figuratively. Han wondered what she was thinking about. She had agreed to go, because he stood behind Luke and made gestures while Luke talked to her, hinting they could begin her plan for Luke right away.

The route to the spaceport was pre-entered in the skiff, and Han let autopilot handle the steering for a while, seeing as there was nothing, not a damned thing, in sight for miles. He made his way over to her and took a seat.

"Space is flying through wide open spaces too; why do I hate this trip so much?" he asked. It wasn't rhetorical, but he didn't expect an answer. He sat all the way back, against the railing, and tapped his feet on the deck to annoy her. "Something wrong?"

She lifted her shoulders and dropped them. "Bad memories, I think," she said.

Han looked out at the desert. If he turned his head, he could see the canyons. Maybe she was heavy with the memory of Vader, or maybe, he thought with sudden realization, it was the skiff itself. It had been a traumatizing trip for her, the day they left the Jabba's. Maybe that's why she didn't like to take them into the spaceport. And then there was everything that had happened at Jabba's. But he was feeling uplifted. They'd had a good conversation, earlier. Made some real progress in spelling things out. They had a long way to go, but they'd made a start. Han was not one to slide backwards, and he decided to not allow Leia to do that now.

"They should be good memories," he contradicted her, just to say something, to get her going.

She looked at him in bemusement. "Enlighten me, then, Captain," she said.

This was typical of Han, to take the other viewpoint just to be able to argue. She was a politician but he was a debater. She wondered if, and she dared hope, that Han was actually going to say something.

Han himself was wondering how he was going to pull this off. Events on Tatooine had been monumental as hell, but they didn't leave good memories. He was at the point now where he could acknowledge them. Yes, the man Luke sat down at the table with in the cantina was a complete arrogant jerk. He deserved some kind of punishment from Jabba, toying with his ego and greed like he'd done for three years. That was sheer stupidity. He didn't like to think about his conduct then; he was, he was surprised to discover now that he was thinking about it, ashamed of it.

Then again, he was always up for a challenge.

"Sure," he said, waving a hand casually. "You came here because a friend," he bent his head to hers, "a very good one, mind you," and won a small smile from her, "got himself in trouble and you helped him leave triumphant. Couldn'a killed Jabba without you," he reminded her.

He quieted, remembering how badly he wanted to kill the Hutt. It was one time in his life when, to deny the physical realities of what was happening to him, he had to focus on his thoughts and emotions. He had blamed himself, and he had blamed Maranya, but lording over all that anger was Jabba himself. Deep down he knew Jabba wanted him to harbor that disgust and loathing against himself. That was the real punishment.

And it would have been his undoing, ultimately. Jabba had set it up so that if Han ever was released or managed to get away, that self-hatred would wind up killing him one day. Probably not like Maranya had wanted to, but little by little his sense of propriety would self-destruct. Maybe he'd drown at the bottom of a bottle, maybe he'd piss a gambler off for cheating one time too many, maybe he'd be at the wrong end of a blaster.

That's how Leia really saved him. It wasn't giving him the gun in the throne room. It was just like what she had done when he went down-level. She had told him she loved him, in a rich voice that cut through the slime and the darkness, and he had heard her and followed her, up and out.

It had felt very good killing the Hutt, and Han still felt that deep satisfaction. In the perspective of the whole galaxy Jabba's was a small but terrible world. Victims became predators that were victimized again. Han hadn't killed Jabba to free himself. He had reached a point in his punishment where he suspected a part of him never would be free, and that was probably true for anyone who had any contact with Jabba. But he had put a stop to it.

Leia listened intently, her face on his. _Good memories,_ he had said. The man was crazy. But his attitude seemed to indicate she'd won her hand. Since leaving Jabba's, he'd had moments where he could be playfully antagonistic, but underneath had always existed this underlying tension, a man stretched very thin. Maybe it was the breeze, maybe it was because she hadn't been outside in a while, maybe it was the wide open desert that made him seem free.

"And true," Han's smooth voice continued, "Darth Vader hunted you and Luke here, and I know he was your biological father and all that, but still. It was a very important family reunion, and meant a lot to him, because from what Luke's told me, he seemed glad to let you go and it was a relief to die."

His viewpoint was so unexpected that all she could do was make noises, her brown eyes wide and astonished.

He had her now, and he relaxed into her a bit, ready to finish his observations. "Lastly, I know it was bad, when I was bleeding all over you and you thought I was gonna die, but….Princess." His eyes were now very serious on her and she found herself waiting with bated breath for what he would say next. "You saved my life."

He was very alive now, she thought, beautifully so, as his eyes came near her own and she had to close hers. His lips touched hers, sweetly and soft, and when they parted she could feel the oil of the lip salve penetrate her lips.

"You saved me," he said. She opened her eyes. His were still looking intently into hers and she registered the difference between saving a life and saving a soul. _Life and death._

The Death Star had changed her, for better and for worse. She used to whisper to herself, when she was frightened, or sad, or proud, _That's what the Death Star did to me._ It was a point of origin for her will, her vision, her fears.

She was mostly proud of what she'd become. Mostly. No one else on base matched her ability to project ahead, assess, grasp. Her clarity of thought was unpolluted by emotion or personal desires. There were moments when she glimpsed, that instead of becoming more of a leader, she was becoming less of a person. Like the hurt in Han's eyes when she shoved him, harder than necessary, refusing help, shutting him off, everything out. He would push back; not physically, but he would push. _Let me help, let me in, let me._

When she closed her eyes, everything she was, the Rebel leader and the Ice Princess, all was personified in the form of Darth Vader. He had made her. The one thing she did not like about herself since escaping the Death Star was how the figure of Vader terrified her.

She was strong, but Vader and Tarkin and the stormtroopers reduced her to nothing. She was strong, but she couldn't go through that again. During Han's rescue, when they learned Vader was in pursuit, she went into long overdue shock. It had been three years, a long time, and no one made the connection, but she saw it now for what it was. Her ability to lead, to plan, to deny herself, had all been because of Vader. All that good out of something so bad. Because she couldn't face anything else. She had become like the Falcon's shields, all power directed at one spot, protecting the rest.

Until she found the Life Suit in Luke's cabin. That's what she meant when she told Han she'd worn it. _Now there's a bit of Vader in you_. Yes. The good that rose from the bad was not negated by its origins.

If this was true of her, then it must be true of others. She kissed Han again; this man, who came from dirt, squalor and misery to become a man she loved. It certainly was true of him.

And so it must be true of Anakin Skywalker.

She reached up and put her palm on Han's cheek, emotional. "I haven't lost you," she said. She had to bring it up again. They were so damaged, and it would be a part of them all their lives. She had to bring it up again, because she didn't want him to ever waver in doubt like she had, when she thought she was all alone.

She wanted love and she wanted connection, and most of all, she wanted to be done with having nothing. She wanted to be healed. _I choose life._

He shook his head, his eyes making her want to weep. "No." His lips parted, but he didn't speak right away. Leia traced his lip with her finger, knowing even if he said something tactless, or argued with her, it was what she loved him for. "This desert, it's so big. Kind of overwhelming. A person can get lost. Easily." He breathed again, wishing he'd had the training to make the powerful speeches Leia did. "The only thing I'm sure of, when I look out at it, is you. I heard you, when I was down-level. I heard you call my name, and you said-"

"I love you," she answered swiftly.

"I love you," he repeated, and nodded to himself, as if it was just confirmed. "And despite- everything. You love me anyway. All the...what I..."

"I love you," she said again.

"Leia," Han began, his voice thick, trying, trying so hard to convey to her something, somehow; how much his total being wanted; not a selfish desire, but a want, so intense. He wanted for her to have, to give, to share; anything, everything, always. "I love you."

The desert offered yellow. There was no end in sight, no obstacles. Han felt its leisure, its timelessness. He felt Leia breathe under his hand on her back, felt the breeze blowing her hair in his face. He increased his pressure on her, bringing her closer in a kiss, this woman, who knew all.

Leia responded with an abandon only the wildness of the desert could grant. She sat taller, hands roving through Han's hair, tracing his jaw, his throat. When her fingers traced the skin revealed by his open collar she found her mouth opened by his tongue, tasting, caressing.

His skin was golden, warm, firm, and she wanted more. She tugged on his shirt, and he slid off the bench to kneel on the deck between her legs.

Her heart was drumming loud in her head. She was very well aware of where his hands were.

But she sought life. Even her head, which for so long argued over her heart, was quiet. Her head finally recognized the danger she had been in and the man who saved her.

Han was careful, slow. He only used his hands, and they stayed on top of her clothing. His gaze never left her eyes, and she sat there while his hands edged slowly, creeping. He took her cue and traced her skin, lifting her shirt only far enough to reach the waist of her pants, her sleeve, her throat. She felt his hand slide over her shirt across her abdomen, and the muscles trembled. She gasped, never having had that reaction before. It was all so new, so scintillating, so frightening.

Their eyes never left each other. He stayed with her, gauging her reaction, reassuring her, taking his cues. For Leia it was intense, beautiful. Never had she had such eye contact with someone, never had she let someone touch her this way, never did she feel more cared for. Finally it was too much, he was too much. She grabbed the back of his head and leaned down to bring his mouth to hers hard, her tongue swirling along his.

Now his hand dared under her shirt, traveling up her stomach, kneading with desire, raking lightly with his fingernails on the way down, waking her senses. He switched pressure at her ribcage, dancing his fingers until he ghosted over a breast.

He stopped. Had he gone too far? Her eyes were looking back at him, brown and luminous. He read apprehension, nervousness, delight, desire. "Leia."

Her lips parted, loving how he said her name, like he was praying, and she lifted her shirt for him.

"Oh, Leia," his voice trembled.

She did what a dream had taught her, made little circles with her hips and was rewarded with a rush of warmth that went from her scalp all through her, around her when he brought his hands to grasp her hips.

He was breathing deeply, his hand large across her, all over.

Her heart was in her throat, in her way. She could feel him, his own arousal when his leg touched hers, not quite what her dream had shared. "Han," she said. "I need to see you."

He lifted his head, kissed her softly. "It's me," he said. "I'm here."

Now he rubbed the tops of her thighs, making large circles on her pants as her hips continued their motion on their own, still watching her, still loving her. "You love me," she said, and brought his hand to her center.

"I love you," he affirmed. Their eyes watched each other for her reaction. This was Han's hand, that killed a Hutt and transformed a palace, and as her hip made the apex of her circle he pressed his hand down and she felt it in her bones.

She gasped, and it happened again. Her breathing came faster, Han's eyes more...oh, she sighed... she didn't know. Intense, and wanting, jealous of her hips, his hand.

"Han," her hips circled, deeper, needier. "Han," she cried. His hand stayed, answering her body, still on the outside of her pants. _This is me,_ she thought, _my sexuality. Everything. We are everything._

Her eyes had to close. "Don't leave me," she implored, now that she couldn't see him, moving his other hand to her breast. "Don't leave me," she said, hearing her desire groan.

"I'm here," he answered in rhythm to her movement. "I'm here."

Her breathing was going to scream. _I'm here. I'm here._ It trembled and gasped and caught _I'm here I'm here I'm here_ until it released, a long sobbing cry, _LeiaLeiaLeiaLeia_ and her head fell on his shoulder, and she couldn't believe how alive she felt.

He was still on his knees, holding her as tight as he could while she trembled and panted and tears coursed down her cheek, but she wasn't crying. One hand caressed her head. "I love you," he whispered in her hair. "Leia. That was the most beautiful thing I've seen."

Her tears stopped. He was whispering, about love, and beauty, that she was beautiful, sexy...amazing, _amazing._ She lifted her head, about to say, "what," but his eyes were looking at her with desire, such desire, and his lips were all over her throat and jaw and ear, kissing, _amazing,_ sucking, _so beautiful_ , biting, and she felt sexy, she was sexy, she was beautiful.

She lifted his head, attacked his throat, stood, putting pressure on his shoulders so that he leaned back a little, and she brought his hands from her hips to her pants, guiding his hands to let him remove her clothing.

She was sexy, she was beautiful, she was flushed with the effect she had on his body but it was no longer frightening, no longer dangerous. The effect was her, he was hers; and she wanted him, all of him.

She was naked, his shirt was off, and he was power, and golden beauty, and there was that arm, the forearm, the bicep, hers, part of this chest, part of him, her effect, his desire; and if his arm was lovely than so was his arousal and she reached for it.

He gasped and she moved her hand as he had done, over and around him. She put her hand in his, and it was amazing, this communication, their minds one; he brought her hand to his belt and together his pants were off, and she was rubbing her thighs over him, awed by his desire. She would never get enough of him. She'd found a spring within herself and she bubbled to the surface, her hands never stopping, lips never pausing.

"Leia," he said, as she leaned to straddle over him. Headily, Han tried to keep his focus, to remember this was Leia. This was about what was right and what was wrong, he realized, and everything in between. This was her, her legs on either side of him, this was love, so it was healthy, and normal, and right, and he needed to have her, needed to feel her, needed her to be like this so he was right again. "Please," he begged.

"I'm here," she said, their eyes on each other. "It's me. I love you."

He squeezed his eyes tight and swallowed. Just as she had to see him when he touched her he couldn't watch her as she moved above him, but she wiped the tears away from the corners of his eyes and pulled him to sitting and he put his forehead to hers, his arms wrapped tightly around her, reciting her name.

She kept her eyes open as long as she could while they whispered their names to each other and the skiff's breeze moved over their skin.

"Touch me," she urged, reaching for his hand. Her hands swarmed all over his torso, she couldn't stop, and she started her little circles again, and she saw his eyes open again to drink her in just as she had to move her head back and slam hers closed, her hands on the deck supporting her, and together they moved, their bodies joined together as one, her lids sensing the body of one sun over the awning, his hands everywhere, in her and on her, running lines up and down her abdomen.

"I love you," she said loudly, her voice positive and loud and full of life, and he followed her voice, up and out, over the sands, up to the suns, and shouted with release, unable to let her go, moving inside her over and over again, and she had saved him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter left! I want to thank everyone that has followed along.


	65. Chapter 65

Sorrow had a scent, and Chewie had to sniff closely to the Princess to be able to detect it anymore. Sorrow never leaves entirely, it sets in like a stain, but sorrow is part of one's history and it is important others read it in you. How else is the warrior fallen in battle to be remembered? For they are gone. Nothing remains of them, except if they managed to touch another not in battle. If a mate or cub mourns, then it is a worthy death.

Chewie remembered telling Maranya the Princess was covered in death. It was impossible, that many lives to have touched her, but she was a princess and those were her people. Even the planet's death could be read in the Princess' eyes.

The smell of sorrow was so strong that Chewie could smell it on himself on the way to Yavin. The Princess had showered, and tried to eat, but she was so focused on that Death Star, on bringing the plans to Yavin, on destroying it, that sorrow must have got in her spine. He had told her, but she didn't understand his language yet so his wisdom went unheeded, but he told her that revenge cannot cleanse.

Sorrow and death. Han smelled neither. Or maybe he had, and he tried in his own way to cleanse her of it.

And now it was like a perfume on her, faint, but on her pulse points, detectable.

The real reason Chewie declared the Life Debt to Han was because there was no stain of sorrow on him. Chewie had not met a man like him. He was alone. There were no lives that had touched him. Unusual, but possible. Unfortunate. But after Han had rescued the Wookiees, there still was no sorrow. He had not regretted it. He had thrown away his future and this moment, what should have been a profound moment of historical decision, was not tucked away in his past. He never thought back, and he did not think ahead.

He could have been killed in the rescue effort, and the Wookiees could sense there were none to mourn him. If he had died, they would add sorrow for his life, thanks for his life, to their own. But he had not, and so he would have nothing, when he deserved honor.

Ah, but the Princess. She let him take her sorrow, that which he asked for; and he gave her an idea, that there is life past the sorrow.

Chewie did not want her to be rid of her sorrow scent. But he did not want it to overwhelm everything else about her. She was young still, a vibrant human. She should smell of love and hope, sex and family, for these aromas build the future. Chewie could smell them on her now, mingled with the sorrow. It was a pleasant blend, quite lovely to behold.

Han would bring Leia to the _Falcon_. One more being to live on the ship. Not Rootless, like Chewie was. Not homeless, like Han was. But worldless. The _Falcon_ was a place for those who had no place.

She would help bring Chewie home, if just for a time. There he had his own scent of love and family. His place was on the Falcon though. There were no trees there, no cub or mate, but there was Han's honor, Leia's grace, a comfortable berth to sleep in and plenty to eat. It was a home of its own.

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Han was not really what he'd call a happy person; given where he'd come from and the things he'd had to do, he thought he might never really, actually, ever be a happy person. But he felt...good. He felt fine, even.

This new situation with Leia was...again, he shook his head, unable to shape words to describe it. It was, by itself, good. Probably could make him happy, some day, just that part of his life, her, having her. It was something to behold.

It wasn't just sex he was thinking about. Not the romance of her, sex with Leia. Sex was sex, but with her it was so much more. He was more than ready to say goodbye to Luke. More than ready to head to the _Falcon_ with Leia and fly off somewhere, anywhere. It didn't matter where, as long as she would be on board.

Okay, so he was thinking about sex.

The _Falcon_ was no stranger to sex. It was almost an item of inventory, something that happened with regular infrequency after a landing, like collecting cargo and stowing it on board. Sex came and went.

Tomorrow he was going to leave Chewie to handle the cockpit, bring Leia back to his quarters, and bring love aboard the _Falcon._ Just kiss her all over, run his hands all over her.

It wasn't lust. It was sex, but it wasn't lust. It was her and him. It was physical: him, and it was a promise of hope and future: her. Their beings and their bodies joined in sex had meaning, a message they could leave behind for the Force to read.

It had to do with happiness. Where he had never been lucky enough to feel it as a constant in his own life, he could recognize it in others. And instinctively, the first time he saw Leia, he saw in a flash that this was a woman whose happiness had possibly died. The woman he never knew. Alderaanian, with a people, a family, a home. She'd been loved; she had a future among all those elements that made her happy. And then the Empire had done their best to kill it. Yet she was left alive.

She'd been raised well, that happy Leia, and along with her doomed happiness there was intellect and empathy, and the parts of her soul the Empire hadn't killed merged to form anger and vengeance.

She was more like him than she cared to admit. Her grief was like acid. It set the tone for their friendship. She gave him her caustic sorrow, tried to burn him with it. But he'd never been affected much by sorrow; not his own or others, and he could take it where the others couldn't.

He had been around Chewie talking in botanical adages, been around him long enough to learn that sometimes seeds lay dormant for a time. A plant might sink to the ground, disappear; but it took fire, or cold; something to shock it into growth.

The shadow of her happiness impeded how she lived. Like carbon scoring on the _Falcon_ , that acid had to be removed, carefully and steadily. So he had set about restoring her to health, to the memory of happiness.

What he had never bargained for in the care he took for her, of her, was how she could impart her happiness in him when it came back to her.

He brought her to every level of the Academy. He lay down with her in the sand, and she brought her happiness, what she shared with him, brought it everywhere, and he left a part of himself behind, left it in each level to become a part of the Force.

She had saved him, and he wanted to show her all she could be. Gentle, intense, tender. Need, release, passion. She was hope and future, but she was all things, and she trusted him to bring her there.

In the lowest level, where so many had died and where it was dark and cool, she let him take her against the wall, grim and serious, only the necessary parts of their bodies exposed. He hoisted her around his hips, her arms braced against the sandstone, their gasps echoing around the room.

They moved up, higher, preparing their farewell to Tatooine. It was she who remembered how her heart flared for him in the throne room and they stole into a hidden alcove, claiming each other fast and furious on the sand. Higher still, they lay in front of a wall of windows as the suns colored the sky pink to orange to yellow and made love slowly and indulgently one morning, their voices murmuring together; laughing, encouraging.

From down, where it was dark and cool, higher and higher he loved her until it became bright and warm; until they were up and out; up from sadness and pain out to where love and connection embraced them and found them happiness together.

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It was their final night alone at the Academy and he had brought her to the last destination, the roof. The fresh air surrounded them and he felt free. The blanket below her body was soft and fleecy and the warmth of his fingertips raised goose flesh on her skin when it mixed with the cold of the early night. She was sighing, warm sounds of pleasure.

He loved her. He loved how his hand covered her torso, the silken touch of her hair under his arm or on his chest. He loved how her brown eyes, ones he thought as ancient as a spacer's sky, sought him out. He was a physical man, and he loved her body, but more than that he loved how her body responded to him. The way she shouted a laugh when he flipped her, the way she arched her back when he was at her breasts, the way she grabbed his hair in her fists to let him know she liked the way his tongue stroked her.

She opened her legs to him and it was so natural; wonderful; bringing himself in as far as he could, then almost all the way out. She sighed a moan, and he bent his head to place his open mouth on her lips, drawing her tongue into his mouth like he drew himself out of her entrance, tantalizing agony. When he was kissing her, moving inside her, he saw so many things. A princess, hanging a medal around his neck; a friend, slipping a gun down his pants; a warrior, using words and weapons at his side; a lover, sharing her breath for his life.

The images came faster and faster, images of how his life had become part of hers; her command, her loyalty, her love. His breath rasped in heaves, and her hands groped at his thighs, the hollow of his hips, bringing him deeper. She was vulnerability, she was strength, she was truth. Her body lifted as his came down swifter, harder, and with his head thrown back to the sky he could see the desert sand sparkling in the night like stars; his future, open and beautiful.

She was there, below him, body open and eyes glittering like starlight, his climax growing so that when she heard her name, which he growled and shouted and groaned she heard love and commitment and she answered with his in a long moan, lost in the moment.

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Maranya was in class with the others. Luke, whom the other students and one staff member called Master Luke, just like C-3PO did, was teaching a lesson on discipline.

She was not the only one in there not Force-sensitive, but she was partnered with one. Those with the ability were to hover a pillow, which Luke had floated over from the chairs with his mind, over their partner's faces.

She had not been in school for a long time and at first the transition was difficult. It was the listening; she couldn't do it. But her schooling was becoming a routine, and it was starting to get easier. Luke had taken her aside and told her she had to take rooms elsewhere in the Academy, with the other students. She could help in the kitchen still, as long as it was after class hours, and she could still read with Chewie.

But she stopped the reading lessons because she was getting that in school, and continued in the kitchen after the student dinner was served. She liked the kitchen. There was no listening to be done. There was noise, from fans and cookers and timers, and there were smells, wonderful smells. Class time was over but there was still time for students to relax before turning in for the night, so she would make sweets.

There were droids in here, to help cook and serve and clean up, but Master Luke said preparing food involved the Force, because it was plants and animals, life, so students were allowed to make it a class. There was a Cook, a Tatooinian woman whose husband was a moisture farmer, and she traveled each morning to the Academy across the desert. The students were few, but in three months a "class" would arrive. Twenty.

Maranya liked to bake, she discovered. She liked reading one line of a recipe at a time, and then doing it. She liked the textures; the soft flours that dusted her hand, the rough sugars that reminded her of sand, milks that transformed from liquids to solid and fatty to creamy like a cloud.

The kitchen was one room she had not gone in as a sex slave in Jabba's palace. The layout of the Academy was now quite different than what she had known. Walls had been knocked down; it was warmer at night and cooler during the day; there was lighting, windows. But the stairwells and tunnels were in the same place and so sometimes she moved from class to class with a hypnotic familiarity. Her feet knew this place. They always reminded her she had been here before. This was her palace.

With the pillow hovering inches over her face, Maranya's concentration broke. Her mind had drifted from supporting her partner's concentration, where she was supposed to 'think' her a hovering pillow, to whipping that tan bantha milk and sweetening it with sugar, also brown, turning it to a fluffy cloud.

The pillow held; her partner's concentration was focused. Master Luke instructed for them to place the pillows, with the Force, gently on the ground, "not on faces," he called out humorously, and there were sniggers, and her partner grinned at her. "I'll take some of that whipped milk," she said in a hush, so Master Luke couldn't hear her, but his eyes were on her, so he had. "On a snap - you know, the spicy ones?"

Maranya didn't tell anyone she used to live here; didn't tell them what she used to be here. The others talked to her and she wondered if they would behave differently if they knew. If they wouldn't like her, or if they would want her to sex them. She didn't want to sex them.

She would wake up and think about Chewie, and Leia and Solo leaving. She would miss Chewie; she didn't have to think hard about that. And she found as the days got closer she was eager for Solo to leave. He was the one thing both she and her palace knew before it was an Academy. The shift from sex slave to student could never be accomplished in entirety while he was still here. She wasn't sure she could make the shift completely, but the palace seemed to have. And maybe when Solo wasn't here to remind her she'd forget for longer periods.

She'd asked Leia, during the sand storm, if she sexed Solo and been chastised by both her and Doc Brack for the bluntness of the question, for the use of the term. Leia had explained that sex, not sexing, was a demonstration of love. Maranya knew the signs of sex. It was the same as sexing. She'd been trained to act that way before taking a guest up to a room. It was all the same. Small touches, eyes lingering, hand on a leg. There was a difference between sex and love, apparently, though they looked the same. She could see sex in Solo and Leia, and she strained to learn love.

Love was Leia coming for him. Love was Solo fighting punishment. Leia giving him the gun, Solo hating Maranya. Leia struggling to keep Solo alive.

Maybe the sex was different when there was love. Maranya shrugged inwardly. It was probably something she would never learn, and she thought it was probably something she could live without.

It was getting easier to say goodbye. When Chewie first told her she was very upset. Sand was wonderful but when it was stone it crumbled to dust. She remembered the sand storm, the feeling of haven on the _Millennium Falcon,_ how large, cold, and impersonal the base at Sullust was and how scared she was to be left there only knowing Doc Brack. The Academy was becoming its own sort of haven. The other students here were as wide-eyed and unsure as she was, and Master Luke's lesson was that feelings of nervousness, anxiety and fear were for the future, which was never certain, so never seek it. He told them to rise each morning, and sit in seclusion, or exercise if they preferred, and just breathe. Then the path for the day would stretch out before them and that was all they needed to know.

In the final days before their departure she didn't bake, helping Solo and Chewie and Leia build the surprise for Luke. Her fellow students would await her post-meal treats, and when turn-in time came they looked at her a little crestfallen, realizing they were going to bed without dessert. She smiled at them. "I'll bake again soon," she told them.

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Even with Maranya's hands over his eyes, Luke could still see by the Force, but he gamely participated, because her laughter was infectious and everyone expected him to.

He'd known they were up to something, of course. Maranya was probably their lookout, making sure he stayed away from wherever and whatever Han and Chewie were doing. Luke could hear them, above his personal chambers on the fifth level. He knew they were up there, but Han and Chewie pretended they weren't, acting nonchalant and asking Luke about pod racing during dinner.

Leia kept him busy. C-3PO was also worn ragged, running as go between Luke and Han, keeping Luke distracted. Han sent the droid laden with ridiculous requisition forms for heated baths and a lap pool and a brewery still that had Han's stylus writing all over it _(Luke, you need one of these)_ which of course he had to deny, but every time he got up to demand Han stop reading the Waters catalog, Leia asked him to look over an application from a student.

But if they were going to play games with him then he was too. "Do you hear that?" Luke would ask C-3PO in front of Leia, and get secret enjoyment out of the nervousness that popped in her face while the droid asked, "Hear what, Master Luke? Dear me, I wish there was a droid tech here, I must need an adjustment to my auditory sensors."

He got them to work on it diligently by constantly bringing up the fifth level, because he knew they needed to leave. "I don't know," he mentioned to Chewie once as he found the Wookiee challenging his students to see if they could knock him down, "I think I'll just knock out all the walls and make it a storage area. Don't worry, I won't make you carry the tables up. I can move them on my own with the Force." He chuckled to himself as Chewie hurried off, leaving his students disappointed that they would have to wrestle Master Luke, and lose.

Luke wasn't sure how long he could keep up the charade, especially in front of Leia. The Force was awake, and she couldn't help but sense his thoughts at times, so involved with the Force as he was, so in tune with him as Leia was. Leia's aura was bright and it was new. She was light and love and Han; in his, with his.

He wondered at times, watching her grace and love, who was more a master of the Force, she or him. He had the everything; he had time and existence. But she had love, and that was everything too.

She was unstudied, raw. He was discipline and knowledge. He found he sometimes envied her Force presence. Love was grounding, involving. No one teased her for Force riddles, no one found it difficult to approach her.

He knew she had forged a physical bond with Han. It was not surprising, especially now. He, and anyone that had observed the way Han and Leia went about being friends over the years, had always known it was a matter of time. She glowed. Han's love, both physical and spiritual, nourished her.

He would miss her. He felt he had already lost a part of her when she gave herself to Han. But it was right; the Force showed him they were always connected somehow. He couldn't resent that. He was happy for her, and he was sad for himself. She had a part of the Force he did not, and, he realized with a pang, he wanted it. It made him feel isolated, alone, and he wondered what he would have to do to bring that aspect of the Force into his life as well.

She embraced Life. She was of the present. It was the hardest time for a Force-user to stay in. The Force was everything, and when it was in you it showed you everything, the past, the possibilities of the future, all the places you knew and could go. It was dizzying, breathtaking, and beautiful, but it made it difficult to pull back and just enjoy a single moment. Luke had trained himself not to get lost in the possibilities of the future, but he had trouble stepping out of the Force, enjoying even something as simple as a cup of kaf.

When he and Han first met her, Leia carried the Force spirits of Alderaan with her. She forbid them rest, unable to let them go. It was her rage and her fear, but it was their grief. Now she had let love in, had let Han love her, and he moved her forward, out of the past, to a time where she could be herself, to the here and now. The spirits of Alderaan were loved, tended to, and she let them go.

Luke shook his head, remembering his Master. _To Vader will your friend lead_ Yoda had warned, dire and fearful, but it happened anyway. _And just how was that so bad, Master?_ Good from bad. Right from wrong.

Finally they were ready and they sent Maranya to fetch him. There was a new stairway, just a few steps, but Luke appreciated the opportunity to use the Force as his eyes.

With Maranya's warm hands over his eyes and her giggles in his ears, he noted the climate system was cooling at the same time his nose took in the scent of hot desert air. He knew Han and Leia were standing together, Han's arm around her waist, the Force enfolding them both. He knew Chewie was by the window, and in his mind's eye he could see each individual hair that the breeze lifted, hundreds of them. Such sight, Luke marveled. He'd never noticed how some of Chewie's fur ended in a black tip, or brown or white.

He cocked his head, interpreting what the Force was showing him. Water...there was water in here. On the wall. How?...but there was something else. Life forms. Life was in here. Luke assumed Han and Chewie had been building, but how had they made life?

"Can I open my eyes yet?" he asked.

"Go ahead, kid," Han's voice came, merry, affectionate.

Maranya let go her hands and Luke sought the life forms first. His chest filled in a mixture of love and amazement and spectacle and wonder. "Plants," he breathed.

Leia beamed. They were green. _Green,_ damn it. _Beru, look,_ he wanted to run and fetch his aunt. _My friends brought me green. And the green is living. It's alive._

"They're beautiful," he whispered. He approached one, nestled in a ceramic pot glazed the color of sea water. The leaves were round and thick. He was no plant expert, but he gathered that the plant had new and old growth at the same time. The new growth was glossy, dark while the old had a lighter color and a grayish fuzz, almost like fur. He rubbed it under his thumb.

Chewie patted Luke on the shoulder. "Those leaves are dying," he explained. "The seeds are under the covering. They stick to whatever causes it to fall off the plant, then the seeds drop, and the plant grows elsewhere."

"Life is brilliant," Luke said. There were four plants in all. Luke looked into the container. The plant's roots sat in sand. "Sand," he said, looking up at his friends. It was perfect.

"These are succulents," Chewie said.

"I forgot the name," Leia apologized. "We got them in the market."

"The leaves hold water, so they are good for a desert environment," Chewie continued to explain. "You'll still need to water them, though."

"And that's what this is for." Han took him by the elbow and brought him to a feature that hung on a wall. It had carvings of a landscape, a pastoral scene. The carved sky actually looked to be raining.

"It's a fountain," Han told him. "Depicts the Cycle of Water. We thought you'd like it. Self-recycling. The water comes out here," he indicated with his finger to a hidden spout, "and drains into here," there was another hidden drain, "and a siphon pulls it back up here to start the cycle over again."

"Okay, okay," Luke patted the air by Han's gesturing arm. "I get it. I see how it works. It's beautiful. Really. Thank you, guys."

Han wasn't done making sure Luke would take good care of the plants. "You might have to refill the fountain. Shouldn't need to in a normal climate, but seeing as this is Tatooine...We set up a mini-moisture farm in the hangar. One tiny evaporator." Luke's mouth fell open and Han shrugged modestly. "Should generate enough to water your plants. We figured you'd know how to harvest it."

Maranya nodded. "This one is small. Not like the ones we had on our homesteads."

Luke sighed tremendously and took in the rest of the furnishings. The window was capable of sliding open or closed. The sky outside in the later day's light was a deep orange. The floor was sand, and a flagstone path had been laid out, leading to each chair and the four plants. The tables were a veined red stone, and Luke ran his hand over it. It was cool to the touch. "What kind of stone is this?" he asked.

"It's a marble," Leia said. "We ordered it from Ceronia." She hugged his shoulders from behind. "Please don't be concerned about costs, Luke."

"Your money coming back to you, if that makes you feel better," Han said. "That's my charter fee from you right there."

"You spent your money on me? On this?" Luke spun around. The marble, furnishings, evaporator, plants. The thought, alone. It was priceless. Everyone had left something of themselves in the room.

Chewie was the plants, representing the connection to nature. Han was the water. He was fluid, and changing; capable of bringing life or causing destruction. Leia was the marble. Luke saw she oversaw the whole project. She was cool and unbreakable while the veins hinted at passion. Maranya made the gift of one Tatooinian to another. Their lives were grounded by sand but it could not be possessed. It was ally, but it was free and primitive and uncontrollable. _Much like the Force,_ Luke thought, and again, he knew how right he was to come here.

"Do you like it?" "I love it!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands over the marble again. "Come on, let's sit."

"Mechanical," Chewie thundered. "Bring us a drink."

"Now really," the droid fussed. "I serve Master Luke in the capacity as Adminstrator. My duties are far too-"

"Could you please, 3PO?" Luke asked, winking at the others.

The droid's shoulders froze. "Certainly, Sir," he said after a moment's pause and shuffled out of the room.

Luke turned to Maranya. "Did you know they'll be leaving soon, Maranya?" he asked delicately.

She nodded. "They told me. That's why they did this for you. It's their farewell present."

"We're leaving you with 3PO for company," Han said. "Sorry about that."

Chewie laughed. Maranya looked at Luke. "Will you be lonely?" she asked. "You will have students, teachers and droids."

"No," Luke said quietly, shaking his head. Yes, the Academy would be full of beings; his schedule would be full with classes and duties, and he looked around at them, his eyes shining, avoiding Leia's, knowing if he allowed her access to his eyes she would see how lonely he could be.

C-3PO finally arrived with glasses and a bottle of brandy, and they enjoyed the new room well into the night, when darkness had fallen and Luke got up to shut the window and keep out the cold desert air.

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"Use that room, now," Leia said sternly to Luke on the morning of their departure. They were boarding a skiff, a souped-up one Han finally finished. "We built it for you."

The day was young, the suns still rising, the air cool and pink and white.

"I know," Luke said. "I will."

"I want to make sure you understand, Luke," Leia urged. "It's Luke's room. Not Master Jedi Luke's; not for instructors; not for students."

Han, overhearing their conversation, squeezed Leia's arm as he moved past her. "He can bring a girl up there though, right?"

She laughed. "Yes, you can entertain a girlfriend."

"Stop, you two-" Luke sputtered, embarrassed.

"Luke, I worry about you." Leia's eyes were earnest and brown. "You're taking on a lot."

"No, I'm not," he contradicted her gently. "I have the Force."

"That's exactly what I mean. You're taking on a lot."

Luke sighed, his eyes shifting out to the desert as Han steered them out of the hangar. The silhouette of the canyons lined the sky in one direction while behind them the ancient stone of the Academy for Force Studies dominated the landscape.

"I just don't want you to forget yourself," Leia was saying. She started to cry. "I've watched you. You've changed so much."

"We all have, Leia," Luke answered. A part of his heart was breaking, because, in essence, she was right. They were leaving, she, Han and Chewie, and while they would never be out of his life completely - never could be - he felt an emptiness, a hole. Like the open window to his new room, they had flowed out with the breeze, moving on. He could experience with the Force, but they would live. "Hey now, don't cry," he said.

Holding him tightly, Leia sniffled, "I just don't want you sitting alone like Yoda with only the Force for company."

"Yoda was in exile," Luke reminded her. "I'm not. It won't be anything like it was for him or Ben. It will be filled with spirit, and life, and learning. I'm looking forward to it," he said, though he found it hard not to cry, too. It was his sister's fault, her love and concern moving through the Force so that he felt it stronger than she could express it. He kissed her forehead. "I'll be fine. Just like you."

She nodded, eyes blinking, chin quivering, looking at Han.

"I got what I wanted," he told her. "I always wanted this." But he had no idea of the scope, or the sacrifice. He had gotten more than he wanted. There was no going back, never, but a part of him wondered if that boy from the moisture farm would change his answer to Ben if he had known.

"And I had no idea I would want any of this," she said with a watery smile. "All I wanted was to win the war."

"I wanted this for you, you know," he told her. "Sometimes, all you've got to do is put something in the light. When it's not dark everyone can see it."

She nodded. She understood him completely, but she said, "stop with the Yoda speak," and he laughed.

"Better take a seat," Han called out. "We're gonna fly!" The twins rolled their eyes at one another and Leia made to move to Han. She stabilized herself by wrapping her arms around Han's waist as he held on to the helm and activated the boosters. The skiff made a weird noise, like a complaining strain, and then it shifted to a high whine, and Luke watched Han's face, every expression of doubt and curiosity and triumph, and then with a relatively smooth lurch, they were sailing at a clip, eyes watering in the wind and their hair blown completely back.

Luke whooped. "This is great," he shouted. "We'll make the trip in record time!"

It was wonderful. It was just what he needed. It connected him to his youth, racing like crazy through the canyons, only this time he felt like he could outstrip the Force.

Despite languishing for months on Dagobah and stalling in the procedural nonsense of Coruscant, he felt like this whole journey, from farmboy to Jedi Master, was like this trip. It was blurringly fast, heart wrenchingly beautiful, familiar and new.

The skiff was moving so fast it was hard to talk without shouting, so they all sent their gazes out to the desert. Luke watched his sister, who had her elbows on the railing and looked pensive. Han leaned over and said something in her ear and she turned to him in utter delighted affront.

Suddenly, Chewie was at Luke's side. "Some things never change, eh?" he chuckled indicating, the pair. Luke could hear his deep voice over the noise of the wind easily.

Luke laughed with a nod. "You going to be okay with Han having a new partner soon?" he asked lightly.

"Oh," Chewie's eyes were sparkling. "I smelled it long ago, Skywalker," he smiled. "Long ago."

Luke laughed again. "You always were two steps ahead of me."

"Yes, you still have a lot to learn."

"I do. And if I ever seem like I'm getting a little too full of myself, would you come and knock some sense into me?"

"Gladly."

Luke looked into the Wookiee's blue eyes and smiled. "Thanks, Chewie."

"Do you feel safe in this to take it back? I can remove the boosters."

Luke winked. "I'm going to make it go even faster."

"Cheater." Chewie was an affectionate being, and Luke expected a bone-crushing hug, but he figured it would happen in the docking bay, so he was taken a bit by surprise and needed to take a few breaths to recover.

Chewie mussed his hair. "Have I told you, not many Wookiees are able to break out of the tree tops and breathe in the sunshine?" he rumbled.

Luke shook his head. "No, you haven't."

"I will not have that chance. Thank you for letting me follow you." Chewie moved away, tapping Han on the shoulder to show him the squat skyline of Mos Eisley.

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The Falcon's engines were warm but the ramp was still down. Leia would not let go of Luke.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed into his tunic. "I don't know why this is so hard."

Luke patted her back and looked helplessly at Han.

"So, Luke," Han feigned casualness, his eyes pointing to Leia meaningfully. "When do you want us back?"

Leia's head lifted.

"Um," Luke calculated. "Storm season's coming up. How about in six months?"

Han nodded. "Definitely waiting past storm season. You won't be too busy? Won't have a bunch of new recruits?"

Luke grinned, happy to think about the Academy six months from now, full and noisy. "No, I've been made aware that dividing the year makes it easier to admit new students."

"Goldenrod's got you trained, I see. Leia," Han gently touched her shoulder. "Six months. It's not the end. Now come on, you're hogging the Jedi."

Han groped for words once Leia had left he and Luke alone. He should thank Luke, he knew. For having faith in him, for his friendship. "Well, kid," he started. "Looks like I was right all along. The Force was with you."

Luke pretended to choke in disbelief. "You're taking credit for everything?"

Han smiled disarmingly. "Nah." He looked like he wanted to add something, so Luke waited. "One thing," Han said, squirming a little. "I made Maranya promise me something. I said it at a time I didn't think I was going to make it out. She, uh, I know she's held to it. Would you let her know she...um. That I don't. That it doesn't hold anymore. Okay?"

"Tell her she's free of the promise she made to you," Luke repeated to be sure.

"Yeah. She's a mess, you know, and I don't know if I'm opening a whole can of worms, new students and everything. Don't let anyone take advantage of her is all. She still needs help with what's wrong and right. But, I have no right to ask that of her, now that, well, now that everything is different."

"Okay, Han. I'll tell her. I'll tell her just what you said. She'll know what you're talking about?"

"Yeah." Han held out a hand when they were alone. "I'm not good at this," he said.

Luke smiled. "Me either. We've said goodbye before, right?"

Han scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, but not well."

"'Cause you come back."

"'Cause I didn't say it right. Or it wasn't the right time."

Luke nodded. "Now it is. Don't worry about it, Han. Everything you could say, I know. And it goes for me, too. Just..." his eyes went up the ramp, wondering if Leia were watching them from inside the freighter. She probably was. "Just..." What could he say? Love his sister? Be good to her? Han had long ago demonstrated he could do just that.

He shrugged his shoulders and screwed up his face. "Just," he said. "I'll see you in six months."

They hugged. _One of us must have initiated it_ , Luke thought, but he couldn't tell who.

He walked back to the skiff, closing his eyes as the ramp's gears squeaked shut. _Tell Han to oil the ramp,_ he spoke through the Force to Leia and they comforted each other. _Six months_.

He activated the booster as soon as he could, relishing the speed. He sailed along the desert, and pretty soon he caught sight of the _Millennium Falcon_ shooting out of the docking bay. He waved, though he knew no one would see him, tiny speck that he was from up there. He sailed along the desert, opening his senses, until he was speed, and he was sand, and he was the sky and he was the suns.

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The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it! Thanks for following along. Since we're at the end, I'd love to hear your thoughts. I know it's not perfect but it's my beast and I loved writing it.


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